


Deeper into the Sky

by Sivvus



Series: The Rest is Silence [2]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Court, Evidence, F/M, Freedom, Marriage, Memories, Motherhood, Multi, Romance, Slavery, life - Freeform, trial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Asylum'. You cannot forget your past when your crimes return to haunt you. A treaty following the gruesome battle of the borders turns sour when the Gallan ambassadors demand that two murderous fugitives, Daine and Numair, are brought to justice by the Tortallan court.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swore to myself I was done with this A/U.  
> I _swore!_  
>  Apparently I lied.  
> Sorry about that.

Sequel to 'Asylum' (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9605072/1/Asylum (Original) and http://archiveofourown.org/works/1996536/chapters/4325541 (MA Rated Rewrite))

***

By Sivvus

***

 

The trial was the social event of the year. 

Apart from the men who faced the axe, everyone looked forward to it with excited whispers and gasps of intrigue. Speculations ran rife through the court, until you could not pass by a single lady or lord in the narrow corridors of the great palace at Corus without overhearing the latest rumour. 

The servants, in their invisible manner, carefully collected these stories and shared them in the kitchens, and from there the stories passed from baker to miller to farmer until they filled the land.

It was, everyone agreed, the most shocking thing to happen in the city since...well, they all had different views of the _since_. But whether that was the treason of the Conte duke many years ago, or the outbreak of the unmentionable disease a few months past, they all agreed this was just as shocking. 

The facts were these: the king of Galla had sent an ambassador to King Jonathan after an uprising in one of his valleys, which had threatened the safety of Tortall. The invading army of mages and solders had been crushed by the expert command of the Lioness. The man who had led the Gallan attack was immediately disowned by King Timsra. Lord Orsille had, Timsra claimed, been acting in secret. 

Galla, Timsra insisted, was not to blame for the attack. 

Jon replied with sardonic diplomacy: I believe you. Incidentally, how are you punishing all the lords who aided Orsille in attacking my country? Surely they are traitors, too?

There was a delay of some months before the reply: Orsille worked alone. 

Jon became less diplomatic. Along with a detailed list of the accomplices' names, he added a short rejoinder: We can prove he did not. 

The tone between the two rulers became terse; border patrols were increased for a few weeks, but it was Timsra who finally caved. He did not mention how outnumbered his army was, nor how the Tortallan defences overwhelmed his own, smaller kingdom. Instead, he blustered: We will not execute some of the most powerful families in our realm just because of Tortallan hearsay! 

At that point, frustrated with Timsra's insolent hostility, King Jonathan suggested the trial. A fair and balanced hearing in the comfort of his palace, with a jury of both Gallan and Tortallan citizens, so that _the whole incident may be clarified._

The trial, the gossips said afterwards, was a terrible idea. 

***

The heralds pushed the door open, and the whispering crowd fell silent. For a second the slight figure in the doorway hesitated, unnerved by their silence, but then she raised her chin in the air and stepped forward. The whispers began again at her first step, but it was when she moved fully into the light of the throne room's huge window that the crowd really came to life.

The woman was slight, but her small height matched her thin frame. That thinness was stark; her face and her bared upper arms showed a gaunt shadow which spoke of hunger, although she looked healthy and walked with strong steps. It wasn't her figure which raised comment, though, but the dress itself. The green fabric was cut to reveal her arms, but it was even more daring at the back. Her thick brown curls were tied up in a bun, and the fabric fell sharply away almost to her waist. 

A few people gasped when they saw it. From neck to hip, the woman's back was covered in scars. Swollen white and purple knots criss-crossed in lines like a corset, screaming out against the delicate blue trim on the dress. 

"Daine," the king beckoned her forward with a smile, and the girl stopped in front of the throne with a face like stone. He sighed and set his own face into a serious expression, gesturing to the man beside him. "Daine, this is his excellency Sir Wisnom, the ambassador for Galla. He asked to meet you before the trial begins."

"I know," the woman said, not bothering to look at the ambassador. Her voice was terse. "That's why you summoned me."

The court shifted and murmured to each other. They had not seen the girl at court before, and if that rude display was any proof then they could guess why! They waited for the king to tell her off, but instead he scratched his nose and gestured for the ambassador to come forward. While the man stood up, Jon leaned closed to Daine and murmured something the court could not hear. Whatever he said seemed to mollify her; she relaxed a little and shook her head, murmuring something in reply through a rueful smile. Jon gripped her shoulder for s brief moment and then moved back to let the ambassador take his place. 

Daine stepped back, unconsciously rubbing her arm. Some of the courtiers warmed to her at that sight, believing that she was overwhelmed at being touched by the king, and so was not as disrespectful as she had seemed. Perhaps, they said, she was simply nervous of being in such esteemed company, and that was why she seemed so rude. 

Jon knew differently. He knew how much Daine hated to be touched. She tolerated it from him, mainly because he still forgot until after he had gripped her hand in greeting, or patted her back in jest. He but back the urge to apologise to her now, because he could not be informal in front of the piercing scrutiny of the Gallan dipomats... but he was relieved when the girl caught his eyes and smiled slightly. 

Daine had been furious when he had summoned her, and he knew that her performance today was her way of telling him off. 

It was a trick she had learned from her friend Hazelle, an ancient socialite who had spent her life charming nobles out of their secrets and selling them to the highest bidder. The old woman had hidden Daine in her home when the girl first escaped from slavery. It had only taken her a few months to disguise the shy, frightened prisoner as a noble woman. The dress Daine wore, Jon knew, was as much Hazelle's idea as Daine's. If anyone knew how to make an entance, it was Hazelle. 

"She wants to forget everything that happened." Hazelle had scolded the king, snatching the summons away from him. "Do you really need her to... to live through it again? To talk about what those men did to her in front of all those people?"

"I wish I didn't," Jon sighed and rubbed at his aching forehead. "I feel awful for it, but if we're going to bring those men to justice then we need her to testify. She'd want them to be punished, I'm sure of that."

"And your country would be so much safer with half the Gallan lords swinging from a gibbet," Hazelle retorted. Jon didn't even bother to deny it; his voice grew cool. 

"Yes, and if Daine can protect my citizens from Timsra with a few words then I won't have to risk my soldiers' lives."

Hazelle pursed her lips, and then dropped the summons on the table with a look of distaste. "Well, you can get your page to take it to her. I won't be your courier in this."

"It will sound better coming from you."

"I know, which is why I'm refusing." Hazelle leaned her hip against the desk, and her dark green skirt rustled against the stone floor. "They'll both be furious about it. It's probably best that they only shout at one of us. You know they won't listen to you when they're angry, no matter how logical you're being."

"Logical?" Jon looked up sharply, "So you'll speak up for me?"

Hazelle grinned wickedly. "For your plan, your highness! As for you... facing the wrath of our two dear friends...? I will pray for you."

In the courtroom on that stuffy summer day, Jon wondered if Hazelle had managed to talk Daine around. That smile had seemed friendly enough, but she still faced down the ambassador with an expression of open hostility. 

That esteemed gentleman was rather round, rather bald, and spoke in the kind of slow whine one would expect from a water wheel as it swelled in the cold. He looked down his nose at the girl, raising hia eyebrows at her dress, and steepled his finger before his round eyes. "What is your name?"

"Veralidaine Salmalin." The woman replied in a curt voice. The ambassador glanced at Jonathan.

"I thought you said she was Gallan, your majesty! That's not a Gallan name."

"I am Gallan. My husband isn't." Daine looked at the man properly for the first time, her eyes filled with dislike. "You should talk to me, not to Jon, since I had to come all this way to meet you. You're bein' rude." 

"You're being defensive," He returned mildly. 

She bit her lip at her outburst and shrugged. "My maiden name was Sarrasri."

"Sarrasri?"

"Yes." Her eyes dared him to comment on the name, to call out her illegitimacy in front of the whole court, but the man simply frowned. 

"And you say you have evidence against your own countrymen?" 

She laughed at that, and the dull sound echoed against the silence of many people straining to overhear. "I would never call them that. I have reason enough to hate them until the day I die. I was their prisoner for six years and a hostage for another nine months after I tried to escape to Tortall, I was taken as a slave by their leader and he told me so many secrets my ears fair bled, and I was there when the fightin' took place. Your trial is just play actin' against all I know. Those men are guilty."

The man leaned forward and his voice was quiet. "And why should we believe you?"

She shrugged. "Put a truth spell on me if you like."

"They don't work on the deluded, and you said yourself you were a prisoner." The man's voice was reasonable - that was the worst thing. The girl clutched her elbows as if she felt a sudden chill when the man said, "The prison where you were held is meant for the insane, isn't it?"

"Yes," She started,"But..."

"Were you locked up by accident?"

"N...no..."

"Oh, so you were meant to be there, but if these men are guilty then that absolves you of... whatever it is you did?"

"Sir Wisnom, you're out of line." Jon said sharply. "Daine's not on trial. I called her here to give evidence, not to..."

"Oh, she is on trial." The ambassador rounded on him. "She has to be! King Timsra knows that your whole case rests on what this girl's been telling you. He sent me to find her."

"Find me?" Daine planted her hands on her hips furiously. "I'm not some toy he mislaid!" 

"No, but you are his subject." Wisnom looked again at the king, who had paled at his words. "Your majesty, with all due respect, that woman is a Gallan citizen and she is a criminal. She escaped from jail where she was held for murder. Just because she escaped into your country does not mean she is your citizen." 

The crowd burst into a series of gasps and raised voices at that, and Daine fell silent and stared at her feet. Her lips moved and she winced, trying to find the right words against all the noise. Jonathan looked equally nonplussed, but when he raised his eyes to the ambassador he saw that the man was smiling. 

"You planned this," He burst out, remembering the casual arrogance of King Timsra's letters. Wisnom smirked and then shook his head. 

"Planned? Me?" He looked appalled. "My lord, we are simply here for a fair and balanced trial! The innocent will be pardoned and the guilty shall be discovered." He smiled sweetly at Daine. "Just as your majesty wished."


	2. Nightmares

The door clicked open quite loudly that night, but Daine was far too absorbed in her reading to hear it. She had thrown herself into her studies as soon as she returned from court , hoping that her anger would fade. As usual, the bright and wonderous words made her mind race with the thrill of a world that she barely knew, and it hadn't taken long for her to become utterly captivated by the book. When warm fingers gently pulled her tangle hair away from her temples she gasped in surprise, and then laughed when the owner of the fingers leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"You're back!" She breathed, and turned in her chair to see the man properly. He looked exhausted from travelling but utterly, utterly wonderful. The book fell to the table unheededas it suddenly became the least interesting thing in the room. "Oh gods, you're back! I thought you would be another day, at least!"

"I left early," he started, and then shook his head and caught her cheek with his hand, drinking in her look of absolute happiness. "Oh, sweetheart, you'd think I'd been gone for months, not weeks. You look like you couldn't stop smiling even if you tried."

"Who would want to," She retorted, and caught his hand up in her own. It took her both hands to enclose his long fingers. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled against his palm for a long moment, drinking in the feel of his skin and the warm, living smell of his skin. She felt his other hand in her hair, gently following the curls down from her forehead to the back of her neck.

"I missed you," Numair said very softly, and then he laughed and tweaked her ear. "Open your eyes, Daine."

"I didn't forget what you look like," Daine smiled, looking up. "You've only been gone two weeks. Well, not... not only..."

"I know." He kissed her forehead apologetically. She sighed and gripped his hand tighter for a moment before letting go. Her voice became softer, wistful, as she looked around for her child.

"Where is she?"

"Asleep, thankfully, or else you'd have heard her fussing by now. I think she's teething." Numair played with a curl of his wife's short hair. "She drifted off in her basket after screaming all night, and if you wake her up to say hello I might start screaming back."

"Your parenting skills might need some work," The woman teased, and then stood up. She didn't wake up the sleeping infant, but she gently stroked the girl's dark hair out of her eyes and knelt quietly beside her for a long moment. Sarralyn had grown so much in the long days since Numair had been away, and Daine's heart turned over a little seeing the thousands of tiny changes that she had missed. Between relief at seeing her family again and anxiety about the court, she felt on theverge of tears.

They had never been seperated before, and certainly not for something as serious as the court. But it couldn't have been helped. The summons to Corus had come just as they were packing to visit the university near Trebond.

There, a group of monastic mages had recently found a collection of ancient magic books in their archives. The books had interested both Daine and Numair for different reasons - she, because they were some of the only books which mentioned Wild Magic ever written, and he because they discussed shapeshifting using different kinds of magic... including the kind of chaos magic that had infested his blood back in Galla.

The priests had been reluctant to let two strangers into their library, and even less keen when they found out how infamous the strangers really were. It had taken months of pleading and a sizeable bribe for Daine and Numair to finally gain entrance, and the priests were still adamant that they could only come once.

"Why are they so selfish?" Daine exclaimed over the letter, "It's not like they wrote those books, they just found then rotting in the basement! We have as much right... no, we have more right, since we're the ones who actually live with cursed gifts...!"

"They're priests." Numair looked uncertain even as he finished his thought: "When it comes to chaos they might feel like they need to... to protect the world from it."

"From it or from us?" Daine blinked at him, confused, and when he scowled in reply she shook her head in mute apology. "At least they finally agreed."

The court summons had arrived two days later.

"You should go to the library, still," Daine suggested in a dull voice, letting the parchment drop from her numbed fingers. "Jon's only summoning me."

Numair looked sidelong at her and shook his head. "You have nightmares when I get home an hour late. It'll take weeks for me to copy out those books. I can't leave you alone for that long."

"It can't be helped." She shivered, and then found some steel in her blood. "Just go. Tell me that you choose to go, and that way I'll believe you'll be able to come back. I'll tell myself that every time I have a bad dream and then I can tell myself off for... for being so clingy."

"Clingy?" He raised an eyebrow at the word. "That's not what this is, at all. You're not jealous or demanding of me, and I hope I'm not of you. We just don't like not knowing where the other person is."

"It's still fair stupid of me to ask you not to leave me, especially not for something this important. It's not like those priests are going to kidnap you."

"What if I damage their precious books?"

"Then you'll deserve it," She said with a surprised laugh. Sobering: "It's important that you go, and you can meet me in Corus before this... this nonsense really starts. I can ask Hazelle to help me with all the court nonsense in the meantime. I've forgotten most of my manners. So, you see, I'll be far too busy learning how to curtsey to have nightmares."

He looked at her narrowly for a long moment, and then sighed and rubbed at his forhead. "I'm not at all fond of this plan."

"Jon hasn't given us much of a choice," Daine's voice held a trace of anger. "Can you think of anything better? It might be our only chance to finally understand what happened to us. We can't let that chance go just because of a few nightmares."

Numair thought for several hours, but there seemed to be no alternative. They left their tower together, and when they reached the crossroads to Corus they stopped and made camp. It was barely afternoon and Daine could easily have reached Corus before the sun set, but Numair's journey to the convent would take another two days. The next morning, Daine found that she sas lying in her bedroll alone; her husband had woken up early and slipped away. They had planned that too, but the girl still felt her throat closing up with burning tears.

If she had been awake, she knew, she would never have been able to let him leave.

Now, weeks later, Numair had reappeared in the same sudden way that he had vanished. Daine wondered if he had done it in purpose. The thought made her smile. Of course he had. It would suit his dramatic nature perfectly.

"What are you thinking, magelet?" The man asked, kneeling beside her. Daine rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm thinkin'... the last time we were all here together was back when Sarralyn was born. Seems like an age ago, but lookin' at her, she's still so little..."

He didn't answer; after a long moment he tapped his fingers gently against her bare back where the silk dress fell away. "Do you want to tell me about this, Daine?"

"Later," She didn't want to think about the court now. Those sneering Gallan faces had no right to come between her and her family. Numair narrowed his eyes at the sudden anger in her voice, but he nodded.

It was far too easy to speak of nothing for the next few hours. Daine started making food, and when she returned to the main room her husband had fallen asleep, still dressed in his travel-stained clothes as he sprawled by the fire. Daine didn't disturb him, because she suspected that he had rushed the two days' travel and exhausted himself to be with her sooner. The thought made her heart swell even as she shook her head at him. Stepping softly, she picked up Sarralyn's basket and began the careful process of transferring the infant to her own crib.

Numair woke up with a start when Daine touched his shoulder, and grinned his thanks for the simple plate of bread, cold meat and tomatoes which she held out. "That's more like it," He said, "You'd think those priests were kings for all the rich food they were eating."

"Hazelle's just as bad," Daine mimed a shiver. "All those quails eggs and syllabubs...!"

"Is she well?"

"She's fine, and you already knew that." The woman raised her eyebrows at him. "If you want to talk about all that now then I will, but ask me properly."

"Fine." He lowered his plate and looked straight at her. His voice was blunt. "Tell me it wasn't as bad as we feared."

"It was worse."

"I guessed." He looked sympathetic for a moment, and then shrugged and began eating again. "And that's why I didn't ask. It's vile, but at least we planned for it weeks ago."

"You can be too clever, you know." She snapped, dusting crumbs off her own hands. "It's more serious than just you being able to say 'I was right'. They seem fair set on finding out every little thing about us."

Numair laughed. "Perhaps we should tell them that we don't know, either! Maybe they'll help us find all these dusty books. We can all find out the truth together."

"The only thing we really know for sure is that we... we don't have any answers." Daine agreed, and smothered her own laugh thinking of the Gallan ambassador's plump face. "Gods, they'll be furious."

"You don't mind upsetting the poor ambassador, Daine?"

"I'm not overly fond of him."

"I'm glad to hear it." He tweaked her nose. "I won't get jealous."

There was a sudden rap at the door. Daine jumped up to answer it, leaving Numair to eat his dinner. She sighed when the doorway revealed a young man clad in the bright uniform of a page. He wore Conte blue, so he had to be here on offical orders. It seemed that everyone was determined to make their reunion part of the whole sordid diplomatic battleground with Galla. Her mood got even worse when Jon emerged from the shadows behind his page and invited himself into their rooms. Daine stood aside and let him through, but she scowled at the page until he backed off.

"Numair," The king was saying with an odd mixture of warmth and caution. "I only just heard you had arrived."

"I only just got here." The mage replied in a cool voice. Jon looked up at Daine and saw the same coldness on her face. He understood.

"You know what happened."

"Some of it. We guessed some more." The man shrugged and picked up a tomato, holding it between his long fingers and studying it in the firelight as if it were a jewel. His next words made both Jon and Daine flinch, because neither of them expected it. As always, Numair's sharp mind picked out the one detail no-one wanted to admit. "Exactly how close to war are you planning on taking us, your majesty?"

"Me? It's that swine Timsra who...!" Jon started, and then stopped himself. It clearly took an effort; his face grew red and his blue eyes blazed. "Don't you dare act like it's my fault. Not when you're the ones who gave them a... a weakness to exploit! I came to tell you that... that until this nonsense runs its course, I have to place you under arrest."

"You're not going to put us in prison." Daine sat beside her husband, looking perfectly serene as she raised her eyes to the king. "How were you planning on makin' us stay put? We've had a fair amount of practice escaping, you know."

"Of course I'm not going to do that." Jon said through gritted teeth. "I just need you to promise me you won't leave Corus until the trial is finished. I swore to the Gallan ambassador that you would both give full statements to the crown."

"If we leave, it will make you look weak." Numair shrugged that off, and Jon snapped.

"If you leave, it will make you look guilty."

"Well, we are guilty." Daine said it bluntly. "You know that. The Gallans know that. Diff'rence being, we're in Tortall now and you're not so inclined to lock us up and use us as weapons. You gave us safe passage and you're helping us find out what made us go murderous all those years ago." The girl stood up, shook her head, and hesitantly touched the king's shoulder in what she hoped was a soothing way. "We know you're not going to stop us from going home, Jon. And you know there's no way we want to stay here while those men..."

"Those men insist you're lying, Daine. You need to defend yourself."

Daine shivered and drew her hand back as if she had been burned. "They can't blame me when it was them who... who..." she shuddered and wrapped her hands around herself, staring at the floor. "They're here, aren't they? They're in the same place as us. So close to us, and you're right. You're right, Jon. They hate us. They... they..."

"Daine," Numair moved in front of her, kneeling down so that they were the same height and he could look directly into her eyes. Jon couldn't hear what he said, but Daine steeled herself at the soft words and nodded her head. The man smiled at her a little before he stood up, but when he turned to face Jon his face was set.

"Don't you understand that we can't stay here?"

"You have no choice. I told you: they hate you. Today our spies reported that some of their families have hired Yamani assassins. Dangerous men. With you two dead, we can't prove those men are guilty." Jon told her quietly. "Staying here is the only way we can protect you."

"I can protect my own family." Numair burst out furiously, his face nonetheless white with horror. Jon returned him a fierce, narrow-eyed scowl.

"You'll have to sleep sooner or later. They only have to be lucky once." The king returned hotly.

"And what's to stop them attacking us here?" Numair demanded, looming dangerously over the man.

"The walls." Daine whispered, and smothered a hysterical giggle in her hands. "Maybe we really should be locked up in prison, Numair. Then there'll be guards and bars on the windows to protect us, too."

"That's not funny, Daine." Jon snapped, Daine suddenly looked fierce.

"Who's joking? At least in my plan we're all admitting that you're locking us up again. I don't even know if you care more about looking weak or proving those men are monsters or... or that we'd be risking our lives to take a step outside in the sunshine. Well, so what? We're used to that. Those men your diplomat is protecting sent their soldiers and mages after us before and they prob'ly won't ever stop. You're not shocking anyone by telling us we're never going to be free of them." She choked then. It sounded almost like laughter until she turned to Numair and her eyes were burning with tears. "Numair, please... I don't want to be locked up again. Please, don't... I can't..."

"Don't be so dramatic." Jon started, and stopped when Numair shook his head at him. Unlike before there was no accusation in the motion; the mage just needed the other man to be quiet. Daine's tearful words had faded into a dizzy silence, and for a moment it seemed as if she would fall down or be sick. Perhaps she really was ill... but it didn't seem likely. She was sick with fear, with nightmares that she could not chase away just by being awake.

Numair gripped her arms tightly and spoke to her in a soft, urgent murmur, but she shook her head and tears started from her eyes. Seeing that, Numair pulled her fiercely into his arms and held her tightly. His black eyes fixed furiously on the king for a moment, and Jon was starkly reminded of a wolf defending its pack. He had seen such a creature once, snarling and growling at the passing hunt with that same protective fervour in its eyes. Then Numair looked away, back to his wife. The king stood by awkwardly and tried not to listen in on what was said.

It was difficult not to be curious, especially about Daine. The girl felt like a friend to him, but he had only known her for a few months and most of what he knew about her came from other people: from her friend Hazelle, or from Alanna.

Daine seemed to be an incredible person, resourceful and clever to a fault, and for the first few months of her stay in the palace the heartbreaking strain of Numair's sickness had barely seemed to slow her down. She had swept through the palace, eight months pregnant, emaciated and covered with healing bruises but unstoppable on her quest for a cure. It was only after Numair had regained consciousness that she had finally crumbled.

Jon remembered the moment when Numair's eyes had opened and Daine collapsed into his arms with tears streaming down her cheeks. Finally, a glimpse of the loving, lost creature under that silent mask had emerged. Jon had been taken aback, and it had taken Alanna (of all people!) to explain it to him.

"Oh, she had that trick in Galla, too." The woman hunched a shoulder and then spat on her whetstone before drawing it down the blade of her sword. The high pitched sound set Jon's teeth on edge. "She won't let herself be weak until she knows it's safe to let her guard down, and... well... sometimes Hazelle can get through to her, but in my opinion..." The other shoulder was raised, meeting the first in a shrug. "She only feels safe around him."

Only the Lioness would describe having emotions as a weakness, Jon thought. Still, seeing the way the girl's hands shook as they gripped Numair's arms, he wondered if the knight had it right. This morning she had glanced over the accused men with arrogant indifference; now she looked terrified at the very thought of staying in the same castle as them, however many doors and locks there were. Numair folded her in his arms, and for a long time they were silent.

Then, to Jon's surprise, Numair stood up and lifted his wife in his arms as if she were a child. When he spoke it wasn't in the soft tones he had spoken to Daine in, but in a serious voice.

"There isn't any choice really, is there? So we'll stay."

Jon jumped at the sudden decision and sheepishly asked, "Daine?"

Numair shook his head. "She can't hear you. I put her to sleep."

"You..." Jon gaped and stared at Daine, seeing more clearly now that her head lolled back and her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. "Why would you...?"

"She asked me to." Numair set the woman down on the rug by the fire snd stroked a coil of her hair back from her forehead tenderly. "She says she doesn't dream when I make her sleep. Sometimes now she goes for weeks without having the nightmares but... tonight they would have been terrible." He frowned and looked up, seeing the shadow of disapproval on Jon's face. "I know the mage masters wouldn't approve, and I know you probably don't either, but between being witched and spending the rest of the night remembering every foul thing those men did to her, don't you think you would chose the former, too?"

"I'm sorry, but it's still unethical to..."

"I told you, she asked me to." Now there was an impatient note in Numair's voice. "And as I also told you, we'll stay. I don't think Daine's slept since coming here, but in the morning she'll be rested and she won't see Corus as so much of a cell. Was there anything else you wanted , sir?"

"No... no." Jon made a line for the door, but just before he left curiosity overtook him and he asked. "Numair, what do you do about your own nightmares? You wer trapped in that horrible place, too."

The man smiled humourlessly. "The best thing about my madness was that it made me forget. When the Hawk left my mind it took all its memories with it, and it's welcome to every last disgusting detail. My nightmares are just... emptiness. Darkness. It's almost peaceful, really."

"Almost?"

Numair's smile turned vicious. "As peaceful as death can get." He said, and closed the door.


	3. Affairs

Daine wondered if the raised voices were coming from her dreams, but when she wrenched her eyes open they were still there, hushed now but still angry. The impatient voice belonged to Numair, but it took her a moment to recognise the other voice as the thin warble of Hazelle. Daine leaned wearily against the door and reached for the handle, but something made her pause. It was strange, given the lateness of the hour, to have a visitor. The remnants of the sleeping spell buzzed in her ears, exhausting and enticing as it called her back to bed.

Instead of joining her friends, Daine sank wearily to the floor and rested her ear against the wooden slats, listening to their furious row. Her blood ran cold, because she heard her own name and suddenly realised that they had taken her bewitched sleep as a chance to argue about her.

"It's not healthy, Numair!" Hazelle was saying, her voice shrill. "I knew something wasn't right when she arrived here - she's barely slept in weeks, I'd swear it - but when Jon told me you've been..."

"Oh, don't be so suspicious! It's not like I've been drugging her, and it's not like this happens every night!" Numair matched her fury; Daine heard rapid footfalls as if he were circling the room. "Did Jon tell you how much he hurt her? Or did he just make me into the villain, here?"

"He told me she was a bit upset about being arrested - which is a perfectly normal reaction - and that you spelled her asleep. Which isn't." Hazelle sounded stubborn. Numair sighed.

"Upset is the wrong word for it. She gets..." he hesitated, and Daine pressed her palm to the door. There was something so vulnerable in his voice, and she barely knew how to feel. She had never heard that brokeness before. Hazelle said something too softly for her to overhear, and then Numair answered in a slow voice. "No, it's not that bad. Not yet. She... I think being back here is making her worse. As soon as we leave she'll be..."

Daine swallowed and stared at her hands. Getting worse? She supposed he was talking about the nightmares, the ghosts that haunted her thoughts and made dry fear rasp through her body. As soon as she had seen the faces of the officials the fading shadows had grown faces again, and she couldn't bear it. Blind to Jon's presence she had begged Numair to make it stop, and he had pressed his cool hand to her forehead without arguing. It was a cheap escape, a blackness that she would happily drown in. It had never occurred to her that anyone would think it was a bad thing. Especially not Numair. If he thought it was bad then he wouldn't agree to do it, would he?

And yet... he sounded so uncertain...

"She needs to talk about it." Hazelle was insisting. Numair was silent, and she persisted: "Really, Numair. You can't just witch her every time she remembers something. She has to face what happened to her sooner or later, and this court hearing means that... that it will be sooner, and she doesn't have a choice. Can't you talk to her?"

He laughed. It sounded perfectly hollow, as if he were cradling his head in his hands. "I don't know where I'd start. Unlike our dear ruler, I can't bear to hurt her like that."

"She's already hurt." Hazelle retorted. "You didn't do the damage, but you're letting it fester and rot. It's making her... I don't know. Different."

"You can't blame her for that."

"Oh, I don't. l blame you. If I'd known you were so stupid I would never have blessed your wedding."

Numair drew a deep, shocked breath, and the vulnerability in his voice was replaced by outright fury. "Is this about Daine's nightmares, Hazelle, or about the way I took her away from you? Say what you like about helping her... gods, it's not like I know what to do. But our relationship is none of your gods-damned business."

"It started badly." Hazelle spat, and there was a rustle of skirts as she raised herself to her feet. "I never dreamed that it could get worse."

She stormed out. Daine bit her lip at the sound of the door slamming and found that she was trembling. Then she heard Numair standing up, and sudden panic made her move. She fled to the bed and dived under the covers, pulling the blanket over her head like a child hiding from monsters in the night. By the time the door slowly opened her upset breathing was calm and even, and she pretended to be asleep. Her heart raced and she knew she was too flushed; if her husband had looked closely at her he would have seen through the act in an instant. Daine swallowed a sigh of relief when she heard him lighting a fire in the grate.

Numair hated to be cold, and so he built up the fire every night in just the same way. The sounds were soft, and familiar, and comforting, and after a few minutes Daine's body swam with drowsy warmth. By the time the heat from the amber flames licked over her skin she was drifting again, and when he lay beside her she sleepily turned and sank into his arms.

"Daine," He sighed, and kissed her forehead before settling down. "Are you awake?"

She didn't answer, because she was still so drugged with weariness that it felt like being asleep, really it did, so it wasn't really a lie... and she felt that his hands were cold against her back, and the fire too hot beside her feet, but his body felt perfectly warm against her chest as she cuddled closer.

"Daine," Numair mumbled it against her hair, and the words were the wandering burr of a sleepwalker. "What'm I going to do with you?"

She didn't answer, but now sleep seemed so far away and a cold pain filled her chest until she thought she might freeze. He was deeply asleep now, holding her safely in leaden arms, and she kissed the parting in his hair with desperate sorrow.

"Just love me," She pleaded, and felt him draw back at the harshness in her voice. It was the sound, she told herself, just the sound against the peace of his dreams. It didn't mean anything. It didn't.

Daine was still awake when Numair woke up the next morning, but she had not moved. He saw the brightness of her eyes catching the early light, the softness of her brown eyelashes moving every time she blinked. Sleepily, he asked her, "Are you feeling better, magelet?"

"Yes," she smiled at him and then looked away, back to the canopy above their bed. "Thank you," She added, almost as an afterthought. Numair didn't reply, but he felt himself relax and realised that he must have been worrying even in his sleep. He didn't remember dreaming, though. He never did.

"Numair," Daine started softly, and then she hesitated and stopped. He stretched for a moment and then moved so that he could see her more clearly. She looked thoughtful, as if she had been thinking seriously for a long time.

"Are you worried about going into court today?" He asked softly. It was hard to understand her expression.

"I don't... I don't know." She admitted finally, and a strangeness took over her face. When she met his eyes she spoke very seriously. "The thing is, I... I've been thinking about being mute. When I stopped speaking, when they locked me up, I... I forgot how to think in words. How to explain all of the... the..." She scowled and pressed a hand to her head, then to her heart. "Here, and here. When things are bad and my insides hurt, when I can't stop the things I see even when I shut my eyes, or when I just want to scream out all the ways I feel in one long shriek... I don't know the words for that. So how can I tell it to anyone?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and then understanding dawned and he struggled to meet her eyes. Rolling onto his back, he asked, "So... how much did you overhear?"

"I heard my name and it woke me up." She admitted, reddening. "I'm not sure how much there was before that. I prob'ly shouldn't've listened but you were both so loud and I don't understand what... what's making Hazelle so angry."

"Jon, too. But they're angry at me, not at you." He said dismissively. "And they're wrong."

Daine sat up and caught his chin, tilting his head so he had to meet he eyes. "No, that's not true."

He coloured and pulled away, but she held him with gentle fingertips. Caught, he gently caught her hand between his own, studied the small crescents of her nails, the pads of her fingertips, and then brushed his lips across her palm.

"Hazelle is wrong. She thinks you're unhappy all the time." He said. "I know you're not. It's just when you remember, but... I also know that you'll have to remember a lot more before we can go home. It frightens me, because when you remember you go so far away from me that I don't know how to bring you back."

Daine stroked a strand of hair away from his eyes. He copied the gesture, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I just want you to be happy, Daine."

She knew that wasn't all of it. It couldn't be; Hazelle would not have been furious enough to come here in the middle of the night just because she thought her friend was unhappy. Still, it was far more than she had expected him to admit. And she believed him. The little facts in it were true, even if he was refusing to tell her the important things.

His odd moods wouldn't let her press him for the rest of it - she knew how slyly he kept secrets, just as he could see her own lies. Hazelle, who was in fact a spy, had trained them both far too well. If she asked him for more then he would refuse, or lie, or be hurt. So she let herself be happy with the half-answer, ánd lowered her head to kiss him.

They had no words for this either, but unlike a secret words were never needful. He sleepily responded to her kiss, at first slowly and lazily, and then with a surprised half-gasp when she pressed closer, coaxing his mouth to part against her own and his hands to wander. She had not really thought beyond a kiss, but it seemed so easy to push his loose nightclothes away and taste his skin, and when he drew her thighs apart and eased her leg over his body she let herself be moved, knowing her heartbeat raced under his urgent fingers, knowing it excited him, knowing how it would feel but still gasping at the feeling of being filled, being complete, being a part of him.

And yet somehow this time it wasn't enough, and beneath the thick pleasure she heard words, desperate and panting and rising and falling and... _Let me know all of you._ Maybe she did say them out loud, maybe she didn't, because his piercing eyes narrowed but then they closed and he groaned, and his fingers bit sharply into her hips, and she collapsed against him as her own body writhed and moved and sobbed out its release.

"Daine," His soft voice called to her, and she realised she was still lying on top of him long minutes later, with sweat cooling on her forehead and her nightshirt sticking to his chest. He said her name again, more strongly, and lifted her up and away to where it was soft and cool and lonely. "Don't fall asleep," he warned, and she forced her eyes to open.

"I would only dream about this." She mumbled, and pushed herself to a sitting position. Smoothing the fabric back down over her thighs, she added, "You know I don't have nightmares about you."

"I don't know that at all," he said, a little cooly. "You don't tell me names."

"You wouldn't want to hear them." She sighed, "And I hate saying them. Besides, after you killed him most of them lost their faces, anyway."

Numair didn't need to ask which 'him' Daine was talking about. It could only be Orsille, the man who had masterminded the entire uprising. In the last six months, as he faced down Alanna at the Tortallan border, he had kidnapped Daine and used her as a hostage. After a few weeks it became obvious that she was a hostage in name only; while other hostages were respected and treated well, the sadistic general had enjoyed torturing Daine so much that he barely remembered to use her as leverage. In her turn, Daine had desperately manipulated the man until he finally snapped and cast her aside. Being chained to a pillar in a stagnant pit had seemed like a blessing compared to Orsille's perverse affection.

The other men were not as bad. They couldn't be. But they brought back the shadows of the prison and so they were worse, in an odd way. Daine shivered at their icy ghosts and moved closer to her husband, pressing her body sinuously against his warmth. He pushed her back with a growled, "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not." She retorted, and moved her arms around his neck. After he avoided kiss after kiss she finally caught his lips, and her voice grew harsh: "Don't you see I'm trying to fix this?"

He scowled and rolled over her, pinning her down against the mattress and pressing long fingers against her racing heart even as his other hand moved over her body. "How is this any better than sleeping through it, Daine?"

"I'm offended you're even asking." She returned his fierceness, matching his burning eyes, opening her legs against his seeking fingers. He shook his head and drew away almost as soon as he touched her, punishing her with the aching longing.

"You're not fixing it. This is just another way of avoiding talking about it. Of... of not thinking. Of being... irresponsible and... and... mindless and... and... oh, hag's teeth!" He kissed her fiercely, giving up trying to ignore the thing she was doing with her hands. "Daine, don't stop..."

Immediately, she pulled both hands away and tangled them in his hair. "Why not? You just did."

He laughed heatedly and was just about to make a rather indecent suggestion when they were both surprised by a quick rapping at the front door. They ignored it, hoping it would stop, but the visitor seemed insistent.

"It's Hazelle back to tell you off." Daine whispered in her husband's ear. He groaned and laughed in equal measure.

"You'll have to answer it, magelet."

"Me?" She mimed outrage.

"I'm in no state to be seen by old ladies. Which, I might add, is entirely your fault."

"Entirely?" She kissed the end of his nose playfully. "I'm flattered."

"Flattered's not even close to what I've got planned for you." He murmured as she stood up from the bed. Daine pulled a face at him and headed for the door.  
It took her another minute to open it, because Numair's travel pack was still there, sprawled against the step in a tangle of pots and shirts. It looked like he had kicked it open - possibly after his argument the night before. Muttering under her breath, Daine shoved the pack into a corner and heaved the door open.

"Well!" a strangely familiar voice drawled in a Gallan accent when she finally defeated the door, "I must be interrupting something."

She squinted into the dark corridor. "It's barely even dawn yet, so mind your own..." then she thought about the man's words, looked down at herself, and blushed at the state of her nightshirt. She scrabbled on the floor for one of Numair's shirts and had almost buttoned it closed before she finally recognised the stranger's voice. "Ronan?"

"Exactly." He sounded drily amused. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" Daine exclaimed. It was only after she had shut the door behind them that she realised that Numair might not appreciate men any more than old ladies, but she quashed the thought. Ronan was someone she would never furn away from her home. Running her fingertips through her tangle of curls, she took a pot from the toppled pack and set some water to boil.

"Numair! Wake up!" she called into their room, not raising her voice enough to disturb the baby. "Ronan's here."

"Wake up?" the guest raised a deadpan eyebrow at her. "If he's asleep, then you're clearly having an affair."

"Did you come all the way from Galla to embarrass me?" Daine smiled, belaying the sharpness of her words. Ronan had been the one person who had cared for her while she was a hostage. Because it was his job to heal her from the aftermath of Orsille's sadistic torture, he had seen her in much worse states, and in far fewer clothes. Because of that the girl took his teasing in good humour, knowing it was his awkward way of being pleased for her.

"Didn't you get my last letter?" The man asked. "You seem surprised to see me."

"We've not been home for weeks... and it looks like that's not going to end any time soon." Daine shrugged. "We may have passed the courier on the road. I thought you were staying with Karenna."

"I am," He nodded his thanks when she handed him a steaming cup of tea. Daine gaped at him and he nodded. "Yes, she's here too!"

"But she's not allowed to cross the border!" Daine burst out, remembering the heated punishments which Orsille's only daughter had inherited after his death. Ronan shrugged and sipped the tea.

"Special dis-pen-what's-it. She has to tell her side of the story, too. This tea is terrible."

Daine look distractedly at the pot, seeing that in her surprise at seeing her old friend she had used some of the herbs they brewed to numb Sarralyn's jaw when she was teething. Without explanation, she took Ronan's cup and dashed the brew into the fireplace before starting a fresh pot.

"Anyway, I'mf here fto... Daine, what vthe hell did I frink?"

"It'll wear off in a minute. You only took a tiny little sip." The girl said guilty. Ronan glared at her, and then pressed a hand to his jaw until butter yellow magic seeped into it. He pulled a face at her. "Revenge for the teasing, was it?"

"Ronan." Numair greeted the man, and nodded his head in something close to a respectful bow before grinning. "She's not vengeful, actually, or else I don't think I'd live out a single week unscathed."

Daine rested her head on her palm and watched with a smile as the two men caught up. They had disliked one another in Galla, but their initial hatred had turned into a grudging respect.

Karenna wrote to Daine with fearful regularity, and when Daine asked how Ronan and his family were doing the Lady had sent on a letter the man had written himself. Numair had marvelled over his old enemy's vocabulary at such length that finally Daine had suggested that he be the one to reply. It had been the start of a competitive exchange with far too many syllables, and after the battle reached a stalemate the two warriors emerged as friends.

Now, face to face for tbe first time, their conversation was soon littered with stupidly long words. As soon as the tea was boiled Daine was relieved when Sarralyn started fussing, and she could distract herself. The sight of a clean, changed and content baby calmed the two men, and while Daine began warming some apple sauce on top of the tea pot, Numair began making breakfast.

"I'll eat with you, but I'll have to leave soon afterwards. I can't be seen talking to you, really." Ronan explained, biting into some bacon. "Numair, I'd say thank you but... you can't cook. On the other hand... my compliments, sir. You're good at burning things."

"My flammable tenacity has been unremarkable for a long duration." The man replied archly.

"Is that why Karenna isn't here?" Daine asked, trying to avoid getting puree on the squirming child's ear. Ronan nodded.

"It looks like we're collaborating. Combining stories and suchlike." He threw a blackened piece of fat in the fire. "She might sneak over tomorrow, mind, but I think she was a bit nervous of finding you in a compromising position."

Both Daine and Numair reddened, avoiding meeting each others' eyes, and Ronan choked back a laugh. Finishing his tea, he ignored the rest of hia bacon and stood up. "We figured it would be best to say hello now, so it's less awkward when we see each other in court. And it is good to see you two, even if you did both try to poison me."

"You can cook next time," Numair suggested with a challenging expression. Ronan mimed outrage.

"I have servants to do that for me now, you know."

"Oh, so what you're saying is... not only can you not cook, you can't even pick up after yourself." Daine grinned. "Seems like Karenna's a bad influence."

To their surprise the man reddened at that, and mumbled something surly before taking his leave. Numair shut the door after him, and as soon as the lock snapped shut he turned a speculative expression towards his wife.

"Well!"

"Well." She echoed, and shook her head. "Neither of them said anything in their letters, did they?"

"Not a word." He looked amused. "But perhaps it's all on his side, or it's still a secret. Until the uprising he was just a guard, after all. Now he's her second-in-command and he's working hard for it. He won't want people to think he's there because of..."

"Karenna too." Daine added. "She's got to seem ruthless and formidable, and not have people sayin' he's whispering in her ear. Seems cruel." She sighed and stroked Sarralyn's downy hair as she repeated a fact they both knew far too well. "Being secretly in love is fair difficult."

He kissed the crown of her head in mute reply and then started at another knock at the door. "Do you think he forgot something?"

"No," Daine sighed and stood up. "Hazelle's been sending her maid about this time every morning to get me ready for court. She said 'fit to be seen', but..." She winked and handed her husband the gurgling infant. "If Karenna's here, I think it'll be worth the extra effort!"


	4. Child

It would not have mattered if Daine had dressed herself in gold from head to toe; she would have had no chance of outshining the beautiful Karenna. Still, the dark blue braiding on her charcoal velvet dress gave her an understated elegance which even Thayet smiled at, and the maid had skillfully braided her hair into a style where it looked long and thick. None of the court could have guessed that a year ago she had been shorn nearly bald, for all that they stared at her with open curiosity.

Karenna, who repelled understatement like two arguing magnets, swept into the throne room in a light cream dress edged with reddish fox fur. The warm cream fabric had clearly been spelled, for against its smooth weave ghostly shadows danced - embroidered autumnal leaves which whispered and weaved in a magical breeze. Anyone who stared at her was quickly scared away by the scowling man who escorted her. Ronan's dark attire didn't even pretend to conceal its many weapons.

Daine smiled up at her own escort, whose peacock nature made him a fine figure in a dark blue tunic with charcoal edging - the mirror match to her own costume. The effect had been carefully planned by the court seamstress, but Daine and Numair immediately spoiled it by casually bringing their child with them. It was hard to look striking when Daine held a snoring infant over one crumpled shoulder, and her husband carried a bag of muslim cloths, blankets and other needful things over his. Hazelle had been horrified but her surprise had only lasted a moment. Everyone knew, as she admitted to a nearby friend, that it would take the gods themselves to seperate that family.

The last time they had lived in Corus...

... they had escaped from Galla, but they had not escaped easily. Numair had been mortally wounded, and for weeks he had been trapped between life and death in these rooms. Daine had cared for him as best she could, but nothing worked until their friends tried a last desperate attempt to drag the man back from the Dark God's clutches.

Sarralyn had been born barely an hour after Numair had opened his eyes, and for long days both adults had both drifted in and out of pathetic weakness. On the first day that the midwife left them alone, Daine dragged herself out of bed and wearily fed the mewling baby. Then she found out that Sarralyn wouldn't sleep at all unless she was being held tightly. Daine poked Numair to wake him up, pushed the screaming baby into his arms, and sank down onto the feather mattress with a sigh of relief.

Faced with his squalling daughter for the first time, the man panicked.

"What do I do?"

"Just don't drop her," Daine slurred, already falling asleep.

The last words she heard as her mind faded away into a black exhaustion held a note of actual begging.

"Wait, Daine...! Don't leave me alone with her!"

The exhausted darkness was soft and beautiful. It ended too quickly. The soft sounds of a hungry child and the answering ache in her breasts dragged her out of sleep barely two hours later. Before she could say a word she felt a warm hand on her cheek, and heard Numair's voice.

"Ssh, Daine... look!" He had lain Sa carefully between them. He was still too weak to lift her properly, but one hand cradled the girl's head. "Look how small her hands are! And, Daine, she moves her fingers when she talks..."

"Of course she moves," Daine mumbled. "She's not talkin' though..."

"She's talking," The man insisted. "I've been listening."

Sarralyn chose that moment to blow a loud raspberry.

"Talk back," Daine suggested with a grin, and then she yawned widely. Numair pulled a face at her, but he couldn't hide his wonder when he looked back at the baby.

Daine, with a pang of guilt, suddenly realised that it was the first time Numair had really spent with his own child. He had slept through most of the past few days, and when he was awake either Daine or one of the healers had fussed over him. They had been trying to stop him wearing himself out; instead, they had stopped him from being a father.

"She has a dimple on the back of her neck," She said, "And on each elbow, too. Did you see?"

"Yes," He smiled. "And her stomach pokes out."

"Speaking of which..." Daine picked up the baby and raised her to her breast, kissing the girl's silky hair when she latched on. "I think she remembers being hungry before she was born."

"She'll forget," Numair sat and kissed his wife's temple, his arms shaking with the effort of pulling himself upright. "She'll never be cold or starved or frightened or hurt, I swear it. That all ended with us."

... Two weeks later they had disappeared to Numair's tower, and become a whispered story, then a rumour, then a fact. Now they had reappeared, and of course they were flaunting all conventions. They were so openly shocking that no-one was shocked. You could see who the Tortallan nobles were from their complete lack of surprise. The visiting noblemen from Scanra, Carthak and the Yamani isles, on the other hand, stared at the intruding baby in open horror.

"What will you do if she starts crying?" Hazelle asked, catching hold of Daine's elbow urgently just as they were about to enter the inner court. The girl looked at her blankly.

"Babies cry for different reasons. So I guess I'd change her or feed her..."

"Feed her?" The old woman blustered. Daine relented a little at that. For some reason Hazelle couldn't fathom, the girl seemed a little petulant today.

"Thayet said I could use the solar if it's needful. I'm not so keen on being stared at as all that."

"You're not?" Hazelle met her eyes incredulously for a moment, and then moved away into the pressing crowd. Daine sighed and shifted the baby in her arms, feeling guilty for being angry at her friend. She only had a moment's peace when she heard another familiar voice, and turned to see Alanna at Numair's elbow. The knight's head barely reached his shoulder, but she compensated with folded arms and a scowl. Daine couldn't hear what she said, but she saw concern pucker Numair's brow.

"You can't do this together." Jon said, appearing at her own side. Daine ducked down in a curtsey, since they were at court, but the man waved it away. "The ambassador wants to see if your stories match. We'll show you both the prisoners seperately, and then the Gallans will know you're not telling Numair what to say."

"I'll take Sarralyn," Numair added, looking a little pale. He touched his wife's shoulder, seeing that a glasslike calm had settled over her face. "Daine, sweetheart, you..."

"I'm fine," She snapped, and handed him the baby. "I'm used to Gallans telling me what to do. Splittin' us apart. Seems fair proper to me."

"It's just for a few hours." He murmured, and Daine shivered when he kissed her cheek. She was doing it again, she knew. She could see the careful anxiety in Numair's eyes, and she hated it. swallowing back her wave of anger, she caught his free hand and squeezed it, managing a smile.

"Liar," he mouthed back at her, and grinned when she pulled a face. Daine smiled back, sincerely this time. The anxiety had gone.

The court was called to order, and as the nobles took up seats by the walls the first of the prisoners was brought to the doorway. Daine seemed to shrink as the men were marched in to the room, but when Jon touched her shoulder a strange kind of defiance crept over her features.

"You must name them." Jon said softly, "Or identify them in some way. Prove that you know them, or the Gallans will say you have no right to accuse them."

"I know them." She whispered, and then squared her shoulders and nodded. "I guess... if I saw them one by one?"

He smiled encouragingly and then heldup a hand, stopping a servant from rushing off with the order. "We only need their names, today. That's all. You don't have to think about... about..."

She winced, more at his squeamishness than anything else, and waved the servant away.

One after another the prisoners were brought in front of the king. It was fascinating to watch. Some bowed, elegent even in their heavy chains. Some spat, or worse they wept. Barely any of them paid any attention to the young woman who sat nervously beside the throne, hands looped around her knees as she whispered to a clerk. The man nodded, utterly businesslike, and his pen scratching against the official thick parchment of the court was lost under the whispering of the assembled court. Daine knew enough names to keep up her anonymity for a while, but there were a few times when the clerk stopped the procession, asking in his gravelly voice to confirm some feature she had remembered. The men she recognised (and gods, how her face flamed at how many there were!) were stripped and searched for birthmarks or moles, and through their embarrassment they spotted her mortified expression and knew exactly who she was. The looks they shot her ranged from loathing to fear. Daine shied away from all of them.

That wasn't the worst thing, though.

They had checked about fifteen of the prisoners and sent them back to the cells. Jon was trying to hide the way he was jiggling his had been feeling the irritating beginnings of pins and needles in one foot, and he wished he could walk around the room. Then he heard a low, horrified gasp. Forgetting his foot, he stood bolt upright and nearly toppled to the ground.

"Daine," He whispered, seeing her shock. "What is it?"

The girl raised a shaking hand to point at the newest prisoner, but her shock made it tremble so much she had to lower it again. "It's... it's him. Gods, it's him!"

"What did he do?" Jon demanded in a hushed voice, wondering if the skinny, filthy youth could be another leader. He imagined torture chambers, cannibalism, something dire from her reaction. What on earth could he have done to make Daine - of all people! - look so pale?

"Nothing," She whispered, and a wild laugh burst unbidden from her lips, "Nothing! He didn't do a single thing!"

"Do you know him?" The clerk asked implacably. When Daine frowned he looked up at Jon, ignoring her distress. "Your majesty, I understood that today we were only interested in identification, not... testimony."

"But he didn't do anything," Daine looked confused. "He's innocent. Why do we need to identify him? Just let him go."

Jon scowled, more thoughtfully than out of irritation, and slowly said, "Daine, he must be here for a reason. All of them are. They were either captured in the battle last year, or they were turned in by someone who was."

"He was turned in by Lord Henrik." Daine said immediately, and when the surprised clerk nodded, confirming that guess, she rounded on the king. "Jon, please listen. That man's name is James Henrik and he's Lord Henrik's nephew. I can tell you all about his uncle's crimes if you like, but I swear by Mynoss above that James is... was..." she swallowed and shook her head stubbornly. "He didn't do anything, and I wouldn't speak against him even if he had."

"Lord Henrik is one of our most troublesome cases," The clerk mused. "If we can prove he's guilty - if! - then about ten men will fall with him. But one little weakness in our attack..."

"I understand." Jon scratched his nose awkwardly and then groaned. "Gods, Daine, can't you just..."

"Just?" She gaped at him. "Just let an innocent man hang?"

"Don't be so dramatic." Jon snapped. "I won't condemn him. Not in the end. Think about this politically. If you..."

"I'm not a politician." She cut in, finally losing her temper.

"Obviously." Jon managed to hold his own temper in check, and realised that the entire court was trying to listen in on their hushed argument. He turned to the clerk, hearing the clipped, clear tone of his own words with a distant distaste. "Write down his name. James Henrik."

The man looked up at the sound of his own name, and took in the strange group of Tortallans with a dull lack of interest. Then his eyes rested on Daine, and a sharpness cut into each eye like a knife. Brow furrowing, his mouth shaped some senseless words which were swallowed up in the sound of the guards coming to take him away. Before he left, he took one last look at the girl and saw that her eyes were fixed on his.

Shoving away the guards, he lunged forward far enough to spit at her feet, his face a mask of hatred. Then, oblivious to the violent uproar, he was hauled away.

"You would protect him?" Jon asked, his expression a picture of bewilderment. Daine nodded, tears in her eyes. "Why? He hates you!"

"He's allowed to," Daine wiped her eyes and found herself staring after the departed man. Her voice shrank to a low whisper, and it was clear she barely realised that she was speaking aloud. "That was the plan, after all. And it worked, didn't it? Even now he can't even look at me..."

"Daine..." Jon rested his hand on the girl's shoulder, and cursed himself when she flinched away. Caught up in some memory, the girl who looked up at him was more the frightened, hurt creature from the prison than the confident woman he had grown friendly with over the past few months. Her grey eyes looked utterly blank, reflecting back his own expression like a mirror and giving nothing away.

"Send in the next one." She said, and her voice was frozen with calm. Jon shuddered and obeyed.


	5. Chapter 5

Daine had become a voracious reader. It was something which both delighted and frustrated her husband. When they first met she had read like a child, tracing letters with her fingertips and whispering the words aloud with agonizing slowness. He had forced himself to let her be slow, even though he longed to take the book from her and read out the taxing words instead of watching her struggle.

"I can hear you grinding your teeth," She had told him once. "Is that my lesson, today? Is that noise a noun or a verb?"

He had laughed, but he had been embarrassed more than amused. He hadn't known that his frustration was so obvious. Daine's education had ended the day her home was burned to the ground, and had barely started again all these years later. She was far too clever to tolerate her own ignorance. If he was frustrated, he couldn't imagine how she felt.

When she discovered story books in Hazelle's library it was a revelation to Daine. Numair had chosen very interesting books for her about animals or magic, but they were all written by dry mages in dusty academies. Even the pictures seemed overdone. The story book she found had a woodcut on the very first page, of a lady in a gorgeous dress.

"Look!" She showed it to Numair, fascinated. "It's like the ladies you tell me about. The ones in the palaces. Do they look like that?"

"No," he said. "They're actual living people. That's just a character someone made up."

"Well, I like her." Daine inspected the drawing more closely. "She looks friendly. Do you think she looks nice?"

"I prefer real women." He stood up archly and left her to it. Daine rolled her eyes at him and turned the page.

After that book she had begged Hazelle for more. Daine loved the stories, even if they weren't the slightest bit true, and she had to hide a smile at the pained expression Numair wore whenever he saw her eagerly opening a new volume.

"I suppose you can read a lot faster, now." He admitted, grudgingly. "But honestly, Daine, I don't know how you can read those things."

"I like stories." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Besides, you tell me stories that are just as strange as these ones. I only have your word for it that there's a palace with a room full of bones, and a jewel that controls the earth, and... and..."

"You also refused to believe in jelly until Hazelle ordered some from the cook." The man grinned at her. Daine winced and looked back at her book.

"It just seemed fair daft. Pudding belongs in a bowl, not wobbling a foot in the air. I thought you were teasing me."

He shook his head and ruffled her hair. Because this was weeks before a certain conversation took place, Daine had reddened and tried to hide it from him. Perhaps he noticed, because he quickly stopped the affectionate motion and tucked his hands into his belt.

"Just don't start thinking all those things are real." He said, and the teasing note became oddly serious when he added, "I don't think you've seen enough of the real world to know the difference yet."

Her blush deepened, and she refused to look up or reply. After that, she had felt oddly guilty about reading the story books, and would hide them if she saw Numair coming. At that time she wanted desperately for him to see her as something other than a slave, locked away for so long that she had even forgotten how to speak. If he still saw her as ignorant then how would he ever see her as an equal?

She stopped asking him questions about the stories. After a while the hurt faded, but she still felt a little guilty when she spent an evening buried in a book.

That was why, when Daine left their rooms the night after the first trial, a wave of real guilt made her think of the stories. She had often wondered why the people in her story books wore long dark cloaks to disguise themselves. In her mind, running around dressed against a freezing storm would get you more attention, not less. That night as she walked softly to the castle dungeons she thought, It's because they sneak around at night. It's so cold down here!

She did not need to sneak past the guards - they would have bowed their heads in respect and even found her the key that she asked for. But she did not want Numair to know that she was here, and so she covered her short hair and wore plain clothes, hoping that if anyone saw her they would not recognise her.

Yes, she might have asked for a key. But as Hazelle had taught her to pick locks, it seemed rude to bother the guards. She waited for the captain to leave his desk, ran her finger down the ledger until she found the right cell, and carried on unseen. Once she found the cell it was so easy to open the door that she wondered if Corus would soon suffer a mass escape.

Don't be foolish, she scolded herself, feeling the last tumbler slide smoothly into place. Of course it's easy to break in to a prison, but breaking out is another matter!

The door groaned as it opened and she winced, quickly pulling it shut behind her in case a guard came to investigate. The sound woke up the shape huddled by one damp wall, and she pressed herself back against thr door until he was sensible. The shape looked sround, eyes adjusting to the candle she carried, and when she heard a harsh intake of breath she knew she had been recognised.

"Go away." He muttered, and then more forcefully: "Leave me alone!"

She hesitated, putting the candle down on the floor to buy more time. An ancient, rusted candlestick gleamed back at her, and she bit her lip as she transferred her own flame to the sour fat stub.

"Are you here to gloat?" The man asked, and when she didn't answer he laughed. It echoed, an utterly disturbing sound. "No, of course you're not. I was going to ask if you'd told them what you did, but... you couldn't do that either, could you? It took me a moment to recognise you, but I remembered that you were a mute straight away. Among other memories, of course."

She straightened, rubbed grime from the floor onto her leggings. "I'm not a mute."

He flinched in surprise, and laughed again. "All this time I thought they'd cut your tongue out!"

"No. I just didn't talk." She found herself speaking in a softer and softer voice, retreating to the balmy comfort of silence after all these years. It took an effort to say, "I came to apologise."

"Apologise?" He repeated acerbically, and stretched out his legs towards the warmth of the candle flames. "Well, that's nice. We're all here to apologise, aren't we? And are you going to apologise in that courtroom, too?"

She rubbed at her elbows fitfully. "It's different."

"My uncle's apology is going to get him hanged." He persisted.

"It'll kill you, first." Daine said, and at his intake of breath she explained, "He's the one who turned you in."

James went white, and all the sardonic humour faded from his voice. She half expected him to defend his uncle, but instead he said in a lost, childlike voice, "They're going to hang me?"

She took a step towards him and stopped herself. There would be no point trying to comfort him; what he needed was the truth. She owed him that, but it came out sounding feeble even to her ears.

"I... I'm asking them not to."

"Well, that's nice of you." His mood switched to anger in an instant and he glared up at her. "Are you doing it because you know I'm innocent, or because you don't want me to tell them what happened?"

She couldn't find an answer, and after a long pause he cursed and looked away. That decided her. The water trickled down the walls and the candle stub guttered and stank, and she knew in an instant that Numair would be furious, but she knew what she had to do.

"Get up." She ordered, and opened the door. "Follow me. I can't stop them from putting you on trial, but you don't have to stay in this horrible place."

He gaped at her. "There are guards." He said it slowly, as if she were an infant.

"They won't stop us, but if you're quick then they don't have to see us." Daine snapped, and hauled him to his feet. He cursed and yanked himself away from her touch, and she felt her own skin crawling.

"Come on," she repeated more shakily, and now she couldn't even bear to meet his eyes. "Let's go."


	6. Memories

"Why are you sneaking into your own home?" James asked, and Daine reddened. He was right; she had been gently toying with the lock so it wouldn't click when it opened. In the prison it had been sensible; outside her own apartment it was ridiculous.

And what had she been thinking? That she didn't want to wake Numair up? That somehow he would be more understanding if he woke up to find a strange man in his house, rather than seeing his wife dragging one home like a stray dog? She winced and turned to James.

"I'm married." She whispered. "I know I have no right to ask you this, but..."

"I won't say anything." He replied impatiently. "Hags bones, if he's married to you then I hardly need to make things any worse for the poor man."

She bit her lip and nodded, then opened the door. Warm light spilled into the corridor, and she realised that the strange mewling sound was Sarralyn spending yet another night teething. Numair must have woken up with her. When she walked into the room he raised his eyebrows in a question, but made his expression carefully blank when he saw the filthy silhouette of the man behind her.

"I'll take her." Daine took the fussing baby and held her like a shield in front of her. Both of the men waited for her to speak, and so she said, "Numair, this is James. He needs a place to stay."

"Sir." Numair stood up after only a moment's hesitation and ducked his head in a polite bow to the filthy stranger, who bowed back. After such a formal greeting it was as if they could begin a normal conversation. Numair picked up a cup from the table and held it out until the man slowly took it.

"It's sweet tea." Numair explained. "It looks like you need it more than me. Sit down while you drink it and we'll find you some clothes. Daine, can you make up some food? I'll put Sarralyn to bed now she's sleeping."

"Thank you," The girl whispered, and kissed his cheek before handing the child back. James watched them over the brim of his cup, eyes wide, and when the girl left for the castle kitchens he burst out, "That's it? Aren't you even going to ask her who I am?"

"Why, can't you tell me that yourself?" Numair smiled crookedly at the man's expression and explained, "You need our help and so we'll help you. It doesn't matter why. We owe our own lives to the kindness of strangers. Besides, Daine trusts you enough to bring you here."

"And you believe her?" If James sounded incredulous it was unconsciously done; Numair's eyes narrowed but he dismissed the insult as unconscious weariness. He gestured for the stranger to drink his tea, and left to put the baby to sleep. When he returned to the main room, James was asleep.

Tugging at his nose thoughtfully, the man busied himself finding clean clothes and soap, making then ready for when the man awoke. He cleared a space in the cluttered spare room, lit a fire in the dusty grate, and laid out a bedroll.

"I suppose, since you didn't tell me anything, it means you think you can't." He said finally, smoothing creases out of a pillow case. Daine drew in a sharp breath, because she had thought he hadn't noticed her returning, and then she sat on the floor beside him.

"He's an old friend." She explained. Her husband bit back a laugh.

"Daine, everyone's talking about how he spat at you in court. And I'm not so blind that I couldn't see the way he loathes you now. He's about as far from a friend as it's possible to be."

"Well... it's complicated." She hugged her knees unconsciously. "Maybe there isn't a word for what we are to each other. I don't know."

"Do you hate him as much as he hates you?" Numair persisted. Daine shook her head impatiently.

"He doesn't hate me. Not the way he thinks. He wouldn't be so angry if he really hated me."

"Does he love you, then?"

She shuddered. "He's a friend, Numair. You have nothing to be... be jealous about."

He smiled crookedly. "I wouldn't be jealous of someone else loving you, magelet. Seems perfectly logical to me. But I wouldn't like to think you were hiding that from me."

"I'm not doing that, either. He just needs help and I owe him."

"Owe?"

She winced and shrugged off the question, knowing that she would never be able to tell him the whole truth. "I'm sorry. I should've asked you but... I didn't really plan to bring him back here. I just wanted to talk to him. Then I saw the cell where they were keeping him." She stumbled over that memory and then choked out, "I thought you'd be angry."

"And jealous," he reminded her, and she blushed. He caught her hand and studied it, not meeting her eyes. "At the moment, Daine, I'm just tired. We can talk about this in the morning."

Her heart sank a little. "But there's nothing to talk about."

He looked away. "Go to bed, Daine."

"You are angry," She muttered, balking at the order. "You said you weren't."

"Then we're both lying to each other, I guess." He yawned to disguise the hurt in his voice. It didn't work, but by the time Daine's throat cleared enough for her to ask him what was wrong he had left the room. When she followed he was already pulling on his boots and unlatching the door.

"I'm going to let them know where their prisoner's gone." He said shortly, and then smiled mockingly at her horrified expression. "Don't worry, sweetling. They won't take him away from you. I'll tell them we've adopted another stray into our happy home."

"Numair..." She drew a deep breath and rested her hand on his arm, barely knowing that it was shaking. "I... you're upset at me, not James. Please don't say hurtful things about him. He doesn't deserve it."

"And you do?" He retorted. When she met his eyes levelly, his anger bled away and he caught his breath. "Gods Daine, I think you actually believe that."

"So I'm not lying, after all." She whispered. For a long moment she couldn't bear to look at him, not even at his badly laced boots. She wrapped her hands around her elbows and felt like she was choking on all the words she couldn't say. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, long fingers carefully brushing hair back from her neck but not forcing her to look up.

 _I'm not angry that you let him into our home, love._ Numair said, using the physical link to speak straight into her mind. The words burned with honesty; it was impossible to lie this way. But it was also impossible to hide anything, and so when Daine found the swirling threads of darkness in his mind she brought them forward, questioning them without words. Her face was here, wrapped up in the mixture of viscous disgust and emotion, but to her surprise she wasn't the cause of it. Her image was light, glowing in the mire, and every part of his being was cradling that light, trying to protect it from the terrifying darkness, which snarled and snapped at the intuder until she thrust the whole mess away. As it fled she saw the shape the darkness took, and recognised the man's features at once.

 _I don't understand,_ she said. _You're afraid of him?_

 _He'll you further away from me and I..._ Numair stopped speaking and abruptly pulled himself away, severing the link. He was a far stronger mage than Daine; by the time she had brought herself out of the helf-trance her husband had gone. His words had chilled her so horribly that she was glad he wasn't here to see her. She had to duck into their bedroom before she sank down on the edge of the mattress and cradled her head in her hands. It hadn't been Numair's words - not really - but the note in his voice when he'd said it had been so broken and familiar that it hurt. She remembered that broken note. She remembered lying on the floor, tears hot and stinging her bruised cheeks as she clutched mindlessly at bare feet. The room stank of wine and smoke and lavender, and the carpet rubbed burns into her bare leg as he shoved her away, and she hated herself more than he ever could. The brokeness in his voice and not the words haunted her, but she could still remember every syllable falling into place. "You still had a choice. I'll never forget."

She clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to be calm. Numair would be back soon, and if he saw that she was so upset he might even turn James out into the corridors. He liked having solid things to blame. It was part of his training, Daine supposed. A magic experiment was made of a hundred pieces, and if it went wrong then one of the pieces was wrong. She thought of it more like baking a cake, but Numair was too useless as a cook to see the comparison. The only way to comvince him that it was not James' fault, she knew, would be to tell him every single detail and let him unpick it himself.

Gods. Where on earth would she start?

She had been... Daine couldn't remember. It wasn't like she was allowed to have a birthday. She counted the summers she had seen through barred windows, and added twelve years. Sixteen, then, or perhaps a little younger.

She had been chained up in the pit for a few weeks before they came to collect her. Being buried alive had been a warning and a punishment, but not a sentence. When they marched her back into the living world the sunlight burned her eyes, and she shrank from it. If she had a voice she would have screamed, but she had left it behind in Orsille's chambers. When he had grown bored of her it was because she couldn't even weep. Without a heartbeat and the pant of her breath she would have been silent as the grave, but she was not yet a corpse. If he was watching to see her being released then her silence probably made him turn away in disgust.

Walking, following the soldiers through the stoney grey sunlight, Daine thought, _I am dead. I must be. I just forgot to die._

She held on to the whipping post blankly when they chained her there and didn't care that they brought buckets out of the barracks instead of whips. They sluiced the filth of the pit off her with icy water, holding their noses at the rivulets on the cobbles and making cruel comments. Their words stopped when the last of the dirt oozed away from her skin, and revealed the deep lacerations that had barely healed in the weeks since Orsille had said his fond farewell. Beside her sunlight-starved skin they ran red and purple, and without the crust of dirt they bled and oozed.

There was a whispered argument, and then she felt her elbow being seized and she was marched to the healer's wing. Dakinn smeared ointment on her back without a word, and told her that if she was clever she would sleep on her stomach. She slept on her side instead, with her back to the wall. Although her shoulder screamed it meant she could see who was coming.

A few months later things were normal - as normal as they ever got. Some of the officials were careful not to touch her back, some didn't care, some didn't even notice. Daine treated them all with the same indifference. None of them, even the ones who were gentle, had stopped Orsille. None of them said that he had gone too far, or asked her if she was still alive within her shell. She saw their concern as mere selfishness. It made them feel superior to tell themselves that they weren't the ones who had hurt her. They were good.

Daine might have asked them: what about the other hurts? Did you ever ask me if I wanted this? Don't you ever wonder what I'm feeling, when you're groaning with pleasure? But she had no voice before Orsille, and afterwards she simply didn't care. A man might summon her from her work, or catch her arm in the hallway, or politely ask if she was free in the evening, but he was still a man. However they asked, if she refused then she would be beaten. It was all the same.

This summons was a little different, because the official who asked for her sent her to the wrong room. She was a little more wary because of that, but when she saw the bare room she understood. The young, awkward man by the fire was clearly a guest, and the official was determined to let him sample every delight the keep had to offer. Daine hung back until the guard pushed her into the middle of the room, and with a few jovial comments the official left.

Daine stood silently, rubbing her elbows and staring at the carpet. This one was green, like grass.

"He's my uncle." The man explained. Daine didn't answer, and so he spoke again: "I said it was cold here in the mountains, and the next thing I know he's saying, 'I know what will warm you up', and... and... then he sent for you."

She nodded, still not bothering to look up. When was the last time she had walked on grass? Even when they took her to the farms there were only rocks. The man fell silent, and she tensed, but he walked further away and started rooting through his chest. Daine wondered if she could stand here all night without losing her balance. She would come crashing down onto the rug, but perhaps it would not be so bad. It was soft and warm under her bare feet, but she had been lulled by such tricks before. Orsille's rug had been yellow. The chest closed and she flinched.

"Here." He held something out to her. She blinked at it, seeing only a blur of colour as he held it too close to her eyes. Then he pushed it into her hands. Fabric. "Put these on."

Daine relaxed a little, because this was familiar enough. She stripped off her rags slowly, only looking up when she was naked, wondering if his greedy eyes would flinch away from her scars. To her surprise, the awkward man had turned his back! Biting back an odd feeling of amusement, she pulled on the woolen tunic and leggings which he had offered. They were too big, but they were wonderfully warm. She wriggled in delight and kicked her thin dress into the corner with more than a little spiteful glee.

"May I turn around?" The man jumped when she walked in front of him, and then he laughed. The expression transformed his face, and Daine realised they must be close to the same age. He ducked his head with a boyish smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you can't speak. How would you have answered that?"

She shrugged, and then folded her hands in front of her again and stood still, waiting for his next command. He looked a little disturbed.

"Gods, you're like one of those sim... simu... those puppet things the mages make. Don't you want to sit down?"

She looked askance at him for a moment, and then sat down on the bed, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. The man made a frustrated, strangled noise. "I don't want... girl, look, I didn't summon you here, alright? I don't want that. But if my uncle thought I didn't go through with it he'd say I was weak, and then he'd tell my father, and..."

She stared blankly at him, and then plucked at the woolen tunic with a questioning expression. He sighed and walked back to the fire.

"You looked cold." He explained.

That night she slept in a warm bed for the first time in years, and the man curled up as far away from her as he could get. Daine sprawled like a starfish across the mattress, biting back an urge to smile. After the man fell asleep she couldn't resist stripping off her clothes to feel the sheets against her body. They felt soft and silken under her mottled skin. Every raised scar felt cool, every piece of untouched skin was caressed. Sighing with pleasure, she rubbed her cheek against her pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke up the man was awake, standing over her with a frozen expression. Blushing, he held out her dress and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I didn't mean to look." He said, "I'm so sorry. You... you should probably go now."

Daine obeyed, leaving the soft bed with real regret and almost forgetting the man was in the room as she got dressed. He was so unthreatening it was as if he were invisible. As she lifted the latch on the door, she heard his awkward voice again asking her to wait. Dropping the latch, she stood still and wondered if this was the moment she would discover the whole thing had been a trick.

"Girl," He said in a rough voice, "Did my uncle give you those scars?"

She shook her head. Heard a relieved sigh. Hated him a little. Then:

"Was it someone else here, in the castle? Someone who... who summoned you themselves?"

The awkwardness in his words was almost sweet. Daine wondered what expression she wore as she nodded. It didn't matter. He couldn't see her face, and she slipped out of the room before he thought of another question.

The uncle caught her that afternoon, striding into the kitchen where she was scrubbing shrivelled winter carrots and dragging her away without a word. Daine wiped her hands onto her tunic, wondering if the smell of rancid fertilizer would distract him. it was a vain hope; the official was beside himself with smug pride, and he shoved her into a disused storeroom with a grin. He was already panting when he pushed her down over a table, and his breath was hot in her ear as he huffed all the filthy things he'd imagined her doing with his protegee.

"But you're mine," He growled, his hand rough between her legs. "Don't you forget that, slave. Whatever you did with him..." He pulled her upright when she tried to squirm away, dragging her head back by the hair, "...you'll do with me too. Got it?"

She nodded, gasping as the motion tore hairs from her scalp, and he let her go with a grunt so he could loosen his breeches. Daine dug her nails into the table and wondered what stories the awkward lordling had told his uncle. Whatever they were, the man clearly approved.

He finished quickly, which was good, but his jealousy made him rough and careless. After he strode away Daine hid in the dark room for a while, chewing on her fingernail and waiting for the pain to fade. She only remembered her chores when the cook began screaming for her, and then she moved quickly. Silk sheets or no, another beating would be too much.

A guard was waiting as she finished late that night, and she sighed. Another summons. Her cell was freezing and bare, but she could be alone there. She hadn't been to her own room in days. Washing her hands, she followed the expressionless man though the castle. To her amazement, they returned to the same room that she had left that morning. The guard pushed her through the door, and once again she was alone with the awkward man. This time, though, he must have summoned her himself.

Apart from the fire there was very little light. A silhouette gestured to the table, and she saw the woolen clothes she had worn the night before. The man immediately turned his back, and Daine dressed herself slowly. This time the leggings had a drawstring tied to them so she could secure them. With quick fingers she tied the knot as tightly as she could. He had seen the scars so now he knew he could do whatever he wanted. Well, he would have to cut her clothes off with a knife, or else go wanting.

When she walked into his eyeline he smiled. She looked away.

"I have food for you," He gestured by the fire, where clay bowls steamed. Despite herself, her stomach growled. Without waiting for his command, she helped herself to the largest bowl and dug into the warm mashed roots. Oh, and they were laced with butter and garlic!

The man watched her eat with the same frozen embarrasment as he had watched her sleep, and then he scrambled to his feet. Going to the table, he picked up her rag of a dress and started folding it, and then he froze. Not meeting her eyes, he inspected the dress and then folded it up again, storing it neatly on a shelf.

She was enjoying a sweet pancake when he sat down again. "There's blood on your dress." He said.

Daine paused, thought back to the storeroom, and then returned to her pancake without replying. The man looked at her with wide eyes, and then he stared at the fire.

That night, he asked her to keep her clothes on while she slept.


	7. Friendship

"There's no court today," Numair read out the letter softly, sending the pigeon back out of the window with a flick of his wrist. "That clerk needs time to check both our stories."

Daine mumbled something unintelligable and curled back up again, already slipping back into a deep sleep. The baby had woken up twice in the night, disturbed by the night's events, and what with her crying and her own foggy memories Daine hadn't had much rest. Numair waited until she was fast asleep, and then he slipped out of bed and took Sarralyn out into the main room. He had almost finished brewing tea when the bundle of blankets in the other room moved, and a yawning monster emerged.

"Good morning, sir." Numair found himself being exceptionally polite to the filth-covered silhouette. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

"Gods, yes, thank you! I'm fair starved!" The man grinned shyly at him, all formalities forgotten. "But I think I need to wash first. I fell asleep too soon last night, didn't I? I must smell like a sewer."

Numair found himself smiling. It was hard not to, with so much open friendliness radiating from the man. "Your water is still there, from last night. I can re-heat it if..."

"No need! Cold water is the gods way of telling filthy mortals not to fall asleep in living rooms. Well, that and stiff necks." The man added with a wince. Pulling a face at Numair's slightly amused expression, he took the wash bowl into his room and shut the door. Several yelps emerged, as the young man discovered that the gods had been much more severe than he expected.

When he reappeared his face glowed pink with the cold and his damp hair curled around his ears. The clean clothes Numair had given him bunched around his wrists and ankles, and with all that put together he looked impossibly young. He had one of those youthful faces which seemed to glow with energy and friendliness, and a shy smile which he was currently directing towards a plate of scrambled eggs.

"Mmm! I don't know if it's the starvation or your cooking, sir, but I swear this is the best breakfast I've ever eaten."

"Slow down," The man said with a smile, and handed him a mug of tea. James nodded his thanks, but kept shovelling food into his mouth with an expression of joy. When he got hiccoughs he looked so shocked that Numair had to smother a laugh.

"There's no court today," he said, and explained why. James nodded, smiled briefly, and took a large gulp of tea.

"I guess they'll take me back to my cell before lunchtime," he explained. "Usually I have better manners."

"I don't mind. You look hungry, not rude. And besides, the last person I made breakfast for said I was trying to poison him. It's reassuring to see you enjoying it." The mage smiled and returned to feeding his daughter tiny spoonfuls of porridge. James watched with a contented expression, clearly enjoying the warm fire and his full stomach.

"Mine is due in a few months," He murmured, watching Sarralyn babbling to her rusk. "It's just a bump in my wife's stomach right now, but I still miss it. I feel like I'm missing out on hundreds of tiny things, every day I'm away."

"You're married?" Numair mentally added a few years to how old the boy seemed to be. James nodded and held out the end of his spoon to the infant. The older man glanced at him. "You don't seem married."

"My family arranged it, and I rarely get to see the poor woman. But we get on fine. It's the fate of our kinds of families, I think. Too noble to choose our own partners, but not noble enough to turn down a good bargain." James grinned wryly at the joke and then jumped at a sudden high pitched cry. The noise was coming from the other room. It stopped as quickly as it had begun and then slowly grew again: a thin, keening sound without any real words or shape. He shivered and scratched fitfully at the table top, bewildered to see that even the baby had not reacted to the eerie noise.

"Did I imagine that?" He asked, "I thought I heard something."

"It's Daine. She's having a nightmare." Numair said shortly, not looking up from the child. James gasped and looked back at the door. The noise was terrible enough when he was awake; he did not dare to imagine the monstrous images that had spawned it.

"It's dreadful! Can't you do something?"

"No," The other man tried to be curt again, and then relented slightly. "She'll wake up soon and forget it happened in a few seconds. I used to wake her up but every time I did that the images wouldn't go away for hours."

"Gods," James breathed, and then again another hair-raising wail: "Gods, that noise is awful. How do you live with it?"

"You really don't care about Daine at all, do you?" Numair remarked, still not looking up. "You know, I honestly hoped she was lying about that."

James reddened. "That's not your business."

"Of course not. After all, you're only hiding in my home, eating my food and wearing my clothes. I have no right to ask why you're here."

"No. You think you're joking, but you really don't." There was no laughter or answering sarcasm in James' voice; he sounded suddenly exhausted. "You're just caught up in the middle."

Things in the prison had gone on the same way for weeks. Daine sternly told herself not to expect the summons, but every night the guard appeared and took her to the awkward man's room. Being there felt odd. Everything was soft and quiet and comfortable, but the man's awkwardness was contagious and Daine often found herself shrinking under his blushing stare.

After a few days she realised that he truly was an innocent. She had probably been the first naked woman he had ever seen. When their hands accidentally touched he blazed bright red, but when he thought she was asleep he stared at her with paralysed fascination. No wonder he hadn't touched her.

It wasn't even like she wanted anything to happen. Daine scoffed mentally at the stray curiosity which made her enjoy his blushing regard. He was quite severe about that, in a puppyish way. Once the door was closed he could do what he wanted, and what he wanted was to dress her, feed her and see her safely asleep.

It was a childish infatuation and Daine took full advantage of it. She filled her ragged pockets with sweets and coins to hide away, and spent hours sprawled so close to the fire that the man was afraid that her hair would be set alight.

She smiled at his concern, and then realised that the smile was actually on her lips. He grinned ruefully back, tugging her foot to urge her to move, and when she laughed he beamed at her silent giggles.

A few nights later, after telling her about the day he had spent at the spring fair in the nearby town, the boy shyly produced a strangely shaped object wrapped in fabric. He held it out to Daine, who stared at it stupidly until he explained, "It's a present. You must remember getting presents, right? You must remember that."

The incredulous note in his voice made her smile. He was wrong - she couldn't really remember the world outside of the stone walls. But she nodded anyway, because it was worth it to see him grin. He held the parcel out again and she took it, holding it in stiff fingers and barely daring to breathe. At last he grew impatient and unwrapped it for her.

Daine looked at the thing in absolute wonder, because she was absolutely certain nothing like this had ever been brought into the prison before. It was a doll. Its face was carved from wood that was dark and rich, glowing reddish in the round cheeks and stained slightly on the lips. Thick, soft black wool had been attached as a glory of curls, and a tiny blue braided band held it back from the doll's intricately whorled ears. Its body was soft, made of stuffed fabric, but it was covered in a costume dyed a blue so deep it looked green. The dress was nothing like the fur-lined robes Gallan women wore. It looked light and playful, as if the wearer could dance away into the wind-swept sky.

"It's one of the desert people. This arrow maker I met said he carved it in his spare time." The man explained.

Daine held her breath, almost afraid to look away in case the painted eyes blinked. When she finally did look around he must have misread her expression. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it. My little sisters all love dolls."

She looked back at the doll and touched its nose, not entirely sure what else she was supposed to do with it. The man's awkwardness surfaced then, and he babbled, "Are you too old for dolls? You're so little I thought you were... well, Katty is bigger than you and she's only thirteen, so..." He swallowed and then said, "Are you older than me? I'm... I'm sixteen."

She honestly didn't have a clue, but she held out her hand with all five digits splayed out, then closed and opened it twice more.

"You're not too old for dolls, then." He sighed and lay on his back on the rug, staring moodily at the ceiling. "But I couldn't tell. This place confuses me... sometimes I think I'll look in the mirror and see an old wrinkled man looking back. I swear the days last longer just to be spiteful. You have the oldest eyes I've ever seen, but at least when I'm with you time seems to move forwards."

Daine stood the doll up on its soft feet and watched the bulbous padded feet sinking into the carpet. Maybe the doll thought it really was walking on grass, she thought, when I'm just pretending.

"They won't let you keep it." The man said. She shook her head, and held it back out to him so he might give it to his sisters, instead. He shook his head and pushed it back at her.

"You can keep it here with your warm clothes." He smiled shyly, "Your secret treasure! And if anyone finds it they'll blame me, not you."

They wouldn't dare blame an official, even this little lordling who thought contraband was the same as a game of childish hide-and-seek. Daine had practiced keeping a straight face for years, but if she hadn't then she would have scoffed at his idiotic whims.

"You're wearing a mask." He said, and pulled a silly face.

Daine couldn't help it; she smiled back.

In the mornings she started lingering, wishing she could ask him to keep her. The masters here snidely asked her if she was an animal, knowing her crimes and mocking her silence. It was a cruel joke, but Daine knew it was right in one way. She was like a trained dog, begging this boy for scraps. If he ordered her to stay then she could obey. If he didn't then she would spend the day fretting after him. The man never seemed to realise it was an option, or perhaps as the newest official he was afraid of making an error. He had to work and so did she, and so they went their seperate ways.

Daine knew he spent the mornings with his uncle, because she dreaded the afternoons where the man would order her to enact everything she had apparently done the night before. The lordling wasn't too naive to have an incredible imagination, Daine thought bitterly. As the days crept past it soured her towards him.

The boy never seemed to understand what was going on, despite his horror at every new bruise and every drop of blood. Because of that, Daine could never return his open friendliness wholeheartedly. As days became weeks she told herself that she was grateful, but nothing more.

"You're the only person I can talk to," He would say before he blew the candle out, or in the gentle darkness afterwards she would hear his voice, alone in the night: "Sometimes I think you're my only friend."

She didn't know anything about friendship. She just knew she wanted to slap him for being so stupid.


	8. Fighting Ground

Daine dressed herself slowly, choosing simple clothes and pointedly ignoring the fine silks that Hazelle had chosen for her over the past few weeks. It felt more luxurious to pull on the well-worn cotton shirt and her favourite knitted cloak, even if it was lacy from caught stitches. Wearing her own clothes she felt brave enough to open the door of the bedroom, but before she did she washed her face and collected Sarralyn's bag.

When she strolled into the main room the men were finishing their breakfast, and she didn't need to even look at James on route to her husband. Bending to kiss his cheek, she said, "I'm taking Sarralyn to the training grounds for some fresh air. Maybe Alanna will be there." Silently, she added, It'll be simpler if I'm not here. 

"If that's what you want," He said slowly, answering both statements at once. Looking up at James, he lightly added, "We can get that room sorted out properly for you, then, since we won't be disturbing the baby. And we can find you some spare clothes."

"You're very generous." James' voice was suddenly clipped and incredibly formal. Numair quickly glanced at his wife, but apart from a slight tension in her shoulders she gave no indication that anything was amiss. Sighing, he patted her hand in farewell.

As soon as she left the room Daine felt a thousand times lighter, even with the weight of the baby in her sling. She made her way quickly to the training yard, which lay a little beyond the confines of the castle grounds. She wasn't quite sure if it counted as leaving the castle or not -but she couldn't imagine that Jon would be angry. After all, she was going to return. He hardly needed to order her back when she had left Sarralyn's favourite teddy bear in the baby's cot. Gods knew she would never sleep through the night without it.

Alanna was at the practice grounds, as she had hoped. The stocky woman had taken advantage of the day off to work on some serious training. From the tired look of some of the other trainees, the woman had been at it since before dawn. She was too caught up in a pattern dance to notice Daine at first, but once she did she grinned and nodded her head before carrying on with the routine. Smiling back, Daine leaned on the training-ground fence and watched everyone, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin.

When Sarralyn started to wriggle in her sling, Daine took her out and held her so she could see the fighters. The baby watched with wide eyes until she was distracted by a floating autumn leaf, and then she loudly complained. Finally giving in, Daine found a pile of coloured leaves and sat beside it, resting the baby on the grass so she could play with the crinkly-sounding leaves until she dozed off. It was very peaceful, and apart from the sounds of people training it could have almost been a tree near their own home in the countryside. Smiling, Daine lay beside her daughter and watched the tree branches swaying in the breeze.

By lunch time quite a large crowd had gathered around the training-ground. The visiting diplomats had heard that the famous Lioness was there, so naturally they wanted to see. Alanna brushed off their awed questions and greetings with brusque politeness, and by the time she threw herself down to the ground beside Daine they were far away, but still gawking. Daine laughed at the menacing face her friend pulled in their direction.

"Do you have any food?" Alanna demanded, by way of greeting. Daine shook her head, laughing again at the woman's expression of horror. "Gods above, Daine! How can I pretend I'm only stopping to eat when you don't even have any food? Those idiots will go home and write songs about how the Lioness gossips!"

"It'd be accurate," Daine retorted. "Seems to me you're always whining about them making you ten feet tall. You can't complain when they tell the truth!"

"Good point. Although you lose marks for saying I whine." Alanna pulled a face and beckoned for Daine to stand up. "Come on. There's food in the stables. They say it's for the horses but I've never heard them object to me taking an apple or two. You might, though, and frankly I'm dying to find out."

The enormous scarred warhorses did not complain, but they did ask that the two women share. Their wild-voices were really quite soft and polite, and Daine found herself lingering as she gave them each an apple, wondering what kinds of stories they might have to tell. Alanna might have realised that, because as soon as they had finished their own lunch she rushed off again, eager to return to her training. Daine took Sarralyn's sling down from her shoulders and carefully hung it across two hay pegs, making a secure little hammock for the girl to sleep peacefully in.

She spoke pleasantly to the horses for some time. After an hour or so she heard a clamour of noise outside - crashing, and shouts, and cheers and laughter. The trainees must have been sparring for the amusement of the crowds. She glanced over at Sarralyn, but since the child was still fast asleep she decided not to disturb her. She had seen Alanna fight before, after all - and against real enemies, not other trainees. It was cool and peaceful in the stable, and she soon found herself rubbing her eyes sleepily. Leaning her head against the beam which cradled her child, she drifted into a deep sleep.

She woke up with the horrible feeling that something was wrong. Dangerously wrong. She forced her eyes open and felt something odd on her fingertips. It was sticky and warmer than her own skin, and when she blearily looked at her clothes she saw blotches of it smeared there, as well. She must have rubbed up against it, somehow. It blurred in the dusty light.

A shadow shifted, and she dragged her heavy head upright to see a thin, masked silhouette standing close nearby. The figure's hands were reaching for Sarralyn.

Daine screamed. The silhouette leapt backwards and instantly fell into a fighting stance. "Lousy cheap sleeping potion," it growled in a low voice.

"Get... 'way!" Daine cried, and shoved at the figure with both hands. It hauled its leg back, and then fell forward in such a way that Daine found that her arms were both uselessly tangled and she was completely pinned to the ground. She shrieked again, writhing uselessly against the figure's gloved hands, and it headbutted her hard enough to leave her a little stunned.

"No shapeshifting." It growled in the same odd voice. "I see you shift, the baby gets punished. No shifting, and you stay still, and all will be well."

Raising itself to its knees, the figure's blazing eyes gave her a warning glare before leaving her, still stunned, in the hay. Seeing the stranger reaching for the baby a second time, Daine gasped in a breath and grabbed dizzily at its ankles. Snarling, the silhouette kicked her under the armpit, catching the nerve there and neatly making her entire arm go numb.

Daine slipped her foot under its exposed foot, and again it came crashing down on top of her. The masked figure held her down for the second time, and this time Daine was ready. Relaxing her arm enough to be able to move a little, she twisted her hips around and rammed her thigh into the figure's abdomen. The attacker gasped out a whoosh of air, but didn't reel away In agony as Daine had been hoping. The pained cry was definitely female.

A second later, gripping her arm so tightly that it screamed in pain, the masked woman spoke in her real voice. Her un-affected voice was strangely accented and breathless with fury."Stop that, you stupid girl! You are not to be hurt, but don't think I won't break your arm to make you be still!"

"Break it, then!" Daine shrieked, wriggling. "I'd rather die than let you take my baby!"

"You don't have that choice." The woman said coldly. Dragging Daine to her feet, she looped a coil of hay netting around her throat and tied it tightly. The girl gagged and froze, but as soon as the woman turned back to the sobbing child Daine turned her nails into claws to tear through the dusty fibres. She hurled herself at the woman the moment she was free, and found herself flying through the air again as the woman instinctively ducked and caught her elbow, launching her over her own shoulder. As Daine fell the attacker cursed softly in a strange language.

"Please don't kill my baby," Daine gasped the instant she could breathe, dragging herself painfully to her knees. The woman's eyes widened.

"Kill? I would not do that. I am only to take her far away. I gave my word. I have my honour."

"Honour?" Daine laughed wildly and clutched at a pillar to drag herself upright. The woman watched her coldly. "You don't have any damned honour. Look at her - look how little she is! How will you even feed her?"

"I was not informed of her age," The woman said a little stiffly. "My vow was made before I saw her." As if the confession had made her spiteful, she hooked Daine's legs from under her and sent her sprawling back into the hay. "Stay sat, fool. You have many more bones I could break."

"She'll die if you take her," Daine repeated again, her eyes fixed on the woman's. "Please, please, please don't... don't do this."

The woman turned away archly and picked up Sarralyn, wrapping her up far too tightly in her blanket. Daine clutched at the wide leg of her trousers. "Then let me come with you." She cried, desperation clear in her voice. The woman laughed scornfully.

"So you can steal her back first time I sleep?"

"So I can keep her safe. So she... she'll be alive when you take her to... to your masters." Seeing the woman hesitate, Daine added, "If you don't agree I'll still follow you every step of the way. I'll haunt you."

"Then I'll kill you."

"You're not allowed to. You have your damn honour, remember?"

The woman darted forward and slapped Daine hard across the face, enraged at the insult. Then, with a fierce scowl, she tied Sarralyn's sling to her own chest and dragged Daine to her feet.

"Come on, then." The woman spat. "I won't kill either of you until I'm released from my vow. But the moment I'm free..." She tightened her hold on the baby for a moment until the girl whimpered, and Daine went white. "Understand?"

888


	9. Every Word

James quickly learned to keep out of Numair's way. Numair was glad about that. It wasn't that he disliked James, but every time they spoke Numair always seemed to end up shouting at the other man. Daine's disappearance had twisted up in his mind alongside James' secrets. She had said he was blameless, and so Numair fed and clothed the stranger. But, because she had also said she would be home soon, he shouted.

The first night had been the worst. The guards scoured the castle grounds, holding torches and mage lights. They cried out Daine's name so many times it barely seemed to be a real word any more, just a half-hearted sound which none of the tired men really expected to hear an answer to. The sound of their shouts echoed through the keep and must have kept every noble wide awake. By the time the sun rose everyone knew that Mistress Salmalin had disappeared. When the servants returned from the kitchens with trays full of breakfast and mouths full of gossip, they knew that her child had disappeared, too.

"She ran away." They guessed, or, "She's back in the dungeons where she belongs, and they're trying to keep it a secret."

Numair was summoned to see the king that morning. He looked grey from tiredness and worry, and his breeches were caked in dried mud from searching the grounds. His hands shook, too - the prying servants assumed it was from nervousness, and told their masters it was all part of the same conspiracy. In fact, Numair had scried so far through the forest that he had nearly drained his whole gift. Alanna had found him in the library swaying over a bowl of water and, snarling a curse, had dumped the icy water over his head and then dashed the clay bowl against the floor.  
"Idiot!" She shook him. "Don't you think they know you can scry? Whoever has her will have a blocking charm. Only an idiot would kidnap the wife of a mage without one."

"I wasn't looking for Daine," He muttered, rather sullen in his exhaustion. "I was looking for... footprints. Trails. Dark patches."

Alanna pursed her lips. She was almost impressed by his level-headed thinking, but she wasn't going to admit it. "Lots of people walk in and out of Corus, Numair. There must be thousands of footprints."

"Yes," He rubbed between his eyes and sighed. "There are."

She squeezed his shoulder for a moment and then let go. "Jon's asking for you," she said gruffly. "He knows she didn't, but he says you have to swear to that clerk that she didn't run away."

"Hag's bones, of course she didn't!"

"Wrong kind of swearing." Alanna risked a slight smile. "We all know that. Daine wouldn't go anywhere without you, even if she had to knock you unconscious and drag you away."

"It's a waste of time." Numair rubbed his eyes and stood up. "I should keep looking."

"No, you should see Jon and then get some sleep. I'll ask George to send people looking. And I can scry just as well as you can." Alanna planted a firm knuckle into the man's shoulder and smiled grimly. "A stiff breeze could knock you over."

He pulled a face and left without a word.

By the second night he thought he was used to the fact that she was gone, until he woke up in a cold sweat. One of his hands had rested on the cold, lifeless mass of Daine's pillow, and in his dreams she had been just as cold and still. Gasping in air, he dragged himself out of bed and splashed cold water onto his face.

After three days of no news Numair couldn't feel tired if he tried. He felt like a bolt of magic was writhing in his body, burning his stomach and making his hands twitch with restless energy. All of his worry and anger and panic had nowhere to go. James hid in his own room as much as he dared. It was to the man's credit that he didn't take any of Numair's ragings to heart, and readily accepted the guilty apologies which always came a few hours later. Alanna shouted back, and Jon had cooly pointed out that there was a cell going spare on the only occasion that Numair had snapped at him.

On the fourth morning, something finally changed.

Numair had sent messages to people he knew in mage convents across the country, asking them to scry and search in their own areas. He had realised, in the empty hours before dawn, that the priests might also agree to search, and so had been writing furiously by candlelight for several hours. He was so caught up in his work that it was James who noticed the dark shape at the window, and the younger man cried out in terror.

It was a huge falcon. It had swooped suddenly into the narrow window slit, and now it was pecking fiercely at the wooden grid that served as a shutter. James shrank back from it, his face fixed in a wide O as he raised a poker in shaking hands.

"No," Numair said softly, taking the weapon from the man. "It's safe."

His hands trembled a little as he unclipped the shutter. The bird had a sharp beak and its claws made dry, rasping sounds as they cut into the wooden window shelf. It was a killer, this bird, and it had never been tamed. To someone who was used to the smaller, swift hunting birds, it was a monstrous creature. And besides, Numair had his own reasons for disliking birds.

"Is it... her?" James whispered. Numair shook his head. The bird had none of Daine's mannerisms. Besides, she would have had Sarralyn with her.

The bird looke archly at him when he finally wrestled the shutter to the ground, and then it raised one feathered foot. Numair heared James take a pace back before he spotted the crumpled fabric that the falcon was gripping in that claw. Thanking the bird, he cautiously took the material.

It was a rag. He sidn't recognise it as Daine or Sarralyn's clothing. He unfolded it and forgot the killer bird in a heartbeat.

"What is it?" James asked. "You've gone so pale..."

"A letter." Numair managed, and then he laughed hysterically and sat heavily on the ground. "Gods above, she's sent me a letter. Oh, you wonderful..." he grinned and reached up to the bird, almost touching it in wild glee. The bird screeched at him and waddled a few steps further away.

"What does it say?" James asked. Numair shook his head impatiently, already caught up reading the long message.  
 _  
Numar,_

_We are safe and not hurt. That is the important thing and now you must please read carefully for every word. I want to write again but it may not be soon. I will write as much here as I can._

_We are with a lady who says she is a mersenary, only she is not paid in gold but instead she swore an oath. She does not tell me her name or who hired her and she says she wil read this before I send it so I must not tell you where we are._

_She attacked us in the stables. She swore to her people that she would onli take Sarralyn, but I made her take me too. I refuse to let Sarralyn out of my sight for a single minnute. She refuses to let me hold our girl except to feed her. She has a long hawking chain which she locked around Sarralyn's ankle and she says that she does not have the key to unlock it. The other end is chained to her wrist. We must keep going to where-ever we are going, to split them appart._

_I swear she barely sleeps. I trid to write the first few nights and she threw the fabric in the fire._

_Larst night I found an old tent peg on the trail. I sneaked to her side when she was sleeping. She would have been awake in an instant if I had gone near her, so instead I went to Sarralyn and drove the stake into her chain. I hoped to break it but instead it just wedged aggainst the ground. I think the metal is spelled, maybe._

_Of course the lady woke up. I called out and a badger dug up from his tunel fair quick. She shoved me off the peg but by the time I'd let go the badger was pulling it down with his teeth and growling like a rabid thing. It trapped Sarralyn, but the lady was stuck there to. So she currsed a lot in her own language and then stabbed the ground a few times with her knife but the bager was safe enough._

_I told her I would ask the badger to let go, and gladly, if she would let me write to you first. The badger is still growling now, dear heart, while I write. It's a lovely sound._

_I do not know who wants Sarralyn, or where they are, or what they exspect from us. You probably know more than I do. Please - the burd who is taking this says she will stay and find me if you reply. Of course that can only be once and you must be quick, but please find out as much as possible. Ask people what they know. Send me copies of the rannsom note. Tell me how to break spelled chains._

_Tell me anything!_

_Because I don't know what to do. If I even knew which official it was I could plan, but I don't. All I know is that if I stay with Sarralyn I can keep her safe. I am so scared that I will wake up and they will be gone, and I will never see my baby again. I sleep holding Sa's hand, for all that the lady hates having me so close. I am happy to cause her disquiet._

_I can't imagine how you must feel. Tell yourself how we're coming home as soon as that chain breaks, and I swear I will not let it be long. Sarralyn keeps searching the trees for her da to appear, every day just as hopeful. We are both determined to see you soon, you see?_

_I love you. - Daine_

"She can't spell," Numair whispered, and then he choked and buried his head in his hands for a long moment. James rescued the piece of fabric and then, hesitantly, read it. Chewing his lip, he busied himself making a pot of tea.

"I'd get you something stronger, but you already terrify me." He explained awkwardly. Setting the cup beside Numair, he sat on the floor too and read the letter a second time. "I didn't know she could even write, let alone spell."

"I taught her." Numair's voice was rather muffled, and when he lifted his head his eyes were swollen. "Good gods, I thought she was dead. I thought she was dead and now I know she's alive and all I can think is, she can't spell."

"Prob'ly the shock." James sipped his tea with an air of sagacity and then tapped his finger against the fabric. "She got your name wrong. That's probably what made it stick in your mind."

"My name?" Numair frowned and studied the fabric, "But she knows how to spell my name!"

James put down his cup against the floorboards and stood up. Fetching a piece of paper and a pencil, he returned to the floor and started scribbling on the paper. Every so often he would glance at the fabric, and then he returned to his work. After a few moments he looked up and, in a strained voice, said, "Do you own a map?"

Numair pointed, and James quickly retrieved it. Flattening it against the floor, he studied it intently for a long moment, and then a wide grin crossed his face.

"Numair! Look!" He showed the other man his scribbles and then pointed at the fabric. "I wondered... I thought it was gibberish, but they're town names! Look! Every time she got a letter wrong I wrote it down, and..."

Numair's eyes widened and he pulled the paper closer. In James' untidy scrawl it read:

ISLIN PERG NORDSUN

They were tiny towns on the map, barely even hamlets, but James was right. They were there. Daine had remembered the names of every tiny village they passed. Numair felt his heart pounding and realised that if James hadn't been there, he might very well have missed it.

"She even told me to pay attention to every word." He laughed wryly. "She knew I wouldn't see it."

"Their captor wouldn't have seen it, either. Look, she even says she speaks another language." James whistled softly between his teeth and then looked at the map. "But that path twists and turns from east to south like an earthworm. I think the lady knows what she's doing. It'd be hard to guess where they'll be going next."


	10. Sailing Birds

"Now we're going on a boat?" Daine looked incredulously at the timber vessel which bobbed ambivalently in the dock. Just as carelessly, the woman shrugged. The gesture was clear: She was getting on the boat. Whether or not Daine chose to join her was a matter of supreme indifference.

A man sauntered over to them with the rolling gait of a sailor and held out his hand.

"Passage." He drawled. Both women blinked at him.

"I made it agreed already." The kidnapper said in her stilted way. The sailor spat on the ground and folded his arms.

"That so? So I guess I'll be taking your word for it? Just like that?"

"I'm Jeena Min. I'm working for the Shrouded Terns." The woman said tersely, and then she rounded on Daine and snapped, "Tell that to you damn husband. He'll not know it's meaning."

The sailor obviously recognised the word, for he had gone pale. The woman was right, though. Daine had never heard it before in her life. And while she would be the first to admit that she knew very little about the world (being locked up had that effect), she was keenly knowledgable about the people who wished her harm. In the prison she had learned every name, and listened in on every heated argument. She had never heard any of the officials mention the Shrouded Terns. She couldn't even work out if it was a family name or a tribe, or...

"We were only told to find a berth for one of you." The sailor had recovered some of his surliness. "It's not an inn. We have to ration out supplies, shift ballast..."

Daine half expected the kidnapper - Jeena, she reminded herself - to jump at the chance to get rid of her, but (shifting Sarralyn to her other shoulder) the woman muttered, "She don't eat much."

"Even so." The man smiled thinly and sauntered a little closer to Daine, eyeing her travel-stained clothes. "Have you even got coin for safe passage, mistress?"

"I can work for it," she answered quickly. "I can..."

"There's only one thing you'd be good for, and I'll not agree to you doing it on my ship." The sailor interrupted her. Then his face changed into something he probably thought was a leer. "Not without testing the goods, first."

Daine flushed darkly, but before she could retort the woman sighed impatiently and grabbed at the man's shoulder.

"I'll give you two coin to bring her, and another two if you don't come near her for whole journey." She said. The man blinked, caught off balance with his fight half-undone. The assassin leaned a little closer and her eyes narrowed. "You argue now, I give you two black eyes for free."

The sailor gulped, blustered, and finally stalked off. They watched him go, and Daine wondered if the other woman's heart was racing as much as her own. The sense of threat in the air had been as thick as molasses.

"Thank you." She said, with absolutely no warmth in the words. Jeena shrugged.

"He tell other sailors, they come for bribes too, whoops! I have no more money." She glanced sidelong at the girl and smiled, showing teeth. "I will look after baby. You will be busy."

"Thank you." Daine repeated herself in exactly the same flat, icy tone. The woman scoffed a laugh, and headed across the gangplank.

That night she lay on the wet floorboards in front of the kidnapper's closet-sized cabin, and shivered herself into an uneasy sleep. Every passing sailor woke her up, from passing leers to casual boots planted in her ribs when she rolled across the gangway. When she finally wedged herself inside the doorframe, she got little rest, for the dream was a vivid as wakefulness.

The slow cool trickle of salt water was the sheen of soft sheets, and the rocking boat was the soft motion of another human body leaving her bed. It was a month of so later, and the boy woke her in the morning to say, "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Daine stared at him with wide, sleep-hazed eyes. She didn't dare to move for a long time, and she could see that he didn't think she understood. It wasn't that, though. Some part of her thought that if she didn't respond, it would mean this was just a dream. She could sink back into darkness, and when she opened her eyes again everything would be normal. She buried her face back into the soft pillow and inhaled the soft, warm scent of clean linen.

His voice was far too steady. He had rehearsed this. She had to see his expression. She looked up, and this time he refused to meet her gaze.

"I'm going back home. I'm training to be a knight, you know. Father insists. I'm no good at working here... I'm really terrible. And I'm glad. I can't stand this place." A surprisingly adult expression crossed his face for a moment, and then he looked at the girl. "I'm never coming back."

Daine tore her eyes away with genuine pain writhing in her heart. It took a moment before she understood her own emotion, for she was so used to being numb. She had been dreading returning to her normal life, but now that the worst had happened that thought barely registered. Instead, crawling through her heart like an insect, was the disquieting awarness that she was going to miss him.

She swallowed, made her face blank, and got up from the bed. She pulled her clothes on with steady hands, neatened her hair, and made it all the way to the door before she looked back up at him. He was watching her. It was his right to watch his slave, Daine thought with sudden bitterness, but she could hate him for it now. She couldn't despise him for casting her aside, because she was supposed to yearn for freedom, not slavery. But she was allowed to hate the way he stared at her.

His eyes never left her face. His voice was soft and plaintive against the torrent of her silent rage.

"They're throwing a farewell banquet for me tonight. I'll try to get away early. Please be here. I want to say goodbye." He hesitated, and then added, "I've been thinking of you as my friend. If I'm wrong... then you don't need to be here. I'm not ordering you to do anything. I've put my name against yours on the list so no-one else will bother you but... it's not an order." He pulled open the door to let her leave. "I hope you'll be here."


	11. Islands

The voyage seemed to last for years, although it was probably only a few weeks. Daine grudgingly nursed the kidnapper through crippling seasickness in the first few weeks, mainly because she was so bored of the same four wet walls that even mopping up sweat became interesting. She did not think for a second that Jeena would be grateful for the help, and sometimes she even thought the woman despised her. To someone like her - so obviously trained as a warrior, with a moral code and honour - the idea of cleaning up another stranger's mess must have seemed despicable. Daine might have told her that it meant nothing to her - that she used to be a slave - but she did not. It made her laugh to see the angry humiliation in Jeena's eyes every time Daine had to help her to the privy bucket.

Jeena accused her of trying to coerce her, or manipulate her to trade for her freedom. "There is no point," She snapped, "The boat will not stop until we reach the islands, and unless you are a good swimmer there is no harbour until my masters."

"Who are they, then?" Daine asked, since she had been sending seagulls back to Corus every morning without fail. "I'll practice a speech."

Jeena scoffed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth and rushed for the bucket.

Things comtinued that way for a few weeks - with the baby chained to the bedbound woman, and Daine refusing to leave the stinking cabin except to fetch water or supplies. The sailors held their noses as they walked past, and complained loudly outside the door.

Then the motion of the ship changed, and Daine knew they had reached land. The choppy waves made Jeena grit her teeth and peel slivers out of the timber wall with her nails. Daine, on the other hand, straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her filthy hair. As soon as they landed, she knew, she must make an impression. She might be a filthy shiprat smelling like stale vomit, but she would still face these 'masters' like the most single-minded noblewoman of Jon's court.

The sailors rigged a flimsy boardwalk to the ship, and Jeena nearly fell down it in her eagerness to walk on dry land. As soon as she landed she stumbled and fell. Daine nearly toppled on top of her, her own legs rubbery as they tried to walk on a swell that wasn't there.

"Lady Min!" A voice shouted over the sailors' mocking laughter. The woman looked up with waxen sweat drying thickly on her forehead as a young man in livery ran up and bowed to her. He spoke rapidly in a language Daine could not follow, and then beckoned to someone standing nearby. Two men helped the woman and the baby into a large, square box with two poles, decorated in green and gold paper. Daine cried out and staggered to her feet.

She tried to follow the palinquin, but a hand grabbed her elbow. The fingers looked old and frail, but the hand was remarkably strong. Holding up his other hand, the man watched the litter stop and then nodded. The liveried man - a slender, short figure with dusky skin and straight black hair - rooted inside for a second, and emerged holding Sarralyn in awkward hands. Daine darted forward to snatch her baby away, but realised to her shock that the chain was now fastened around the man's wrist.

"They will take Lady Min to the healers and let her rest." The old man said in clipped Common, still holding Daine's elbow. Then he looked levelly at her and said, "And who are you, to trespass on our island and interfere with our work?"

"I won't be telling you my name, and as for trespassing I'll only stay long enough for you to take that chain off my daughter." Daine said bluntly, not mollified for a second by the man's priestly garment. He was a human, the same as anyone else, and would have human vices whether the gods claimed him or not.

The man looked genuinely appalled, and close to tears when Daine folded her arms and scowled at him. His ancient voice shook. "You're the little girl's... mother?"

"Of course I am." She snapped. "And I'm here to take her home."

"They didn't say she..." The man swallowed and shook his head. "This is all wrong. We meant to..."

"To what?" The woman demanded. For the first time the priest appeared to collect his strength. Looking her up and down with a searching eye, he slowly said:

"We meant to rescue her."

Daine blinked, held up her hands for a moment, and then found herself laughing hysterically. "Rescue her!" She repeated over and over, amidst shrieks of laughter and gulps for air. "From what?"

The man scratched his nose and glanced at Sarralyn as if she might aid him in his answer. In the same slow, cautious tone, he explained.

He was one of a small group of priests who were bound to Chaos for life - not to serve the dark diety, like the priests of the Mother, but to keep the goddess from the mortal realm. If she was allowed to make its way amongst mankind, she would warp and twist thousands of minds to fit her dark, violent nature. She was a cunning goddess, but not intelligent. She was shadow, but could use light for her own ends. What Chaos could not seize in brute force she perverted through trickery or vice. She was the god of the gambler and the addict, but they only knew she had been there after they had givenup all hope. In their despair they would call the names of the higher gods, and the dark goddess would delight in blocking their prayers.

The priests were scattered throughout the world, often bound to another god who they served in name while they watched for the dark goddess in secret. It had been one of these hidden priests who, a month before, had seen a man searching through the catacombs of his temple with a child held in his arms.

It was not the child that held the priest's attention, but something about the man himself. There was an oddness about him that made a shiver run down his spine. A darkness, perhaps, in his eye, or a defect in his walk. The priest could not name it, but something made him uneasy. Following the man deeper into the crypt, he watched unseen as the man scoured the ancient dusty tomes. When the man cried out in delight the priest flinched, and the baby began to cry.

"Ssh, ssh my love," The man murmured, rocking her gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." When the child continued to sob, the man kissed the crown of her head and guiltily placed the book down upon the table. When he left in the direction of the guests' rooms, the priest slipped out of hiding and grabbed at the book.

It confirmed his worst fears. Out of all the books in this place, the stranger had chosen a book on the dark goddess's worst creations - the chaos mages of the old war. The man was, consciously or unconsciously, a minion of the Chaos.

The priest knew what he should do next, for he had been well trained. However, he remembered the crying child and hesitated. His report to the superiors in the Yamani Isles would take many weeks to get a response, and he knew the dark goddess's vicious temperament far too well. An innocent child would be in danger - if not from the strange man himself, then from the goddess's revenge when her lurking identity was revealed. Gathering all of his possessions, the priest sold them in the town market and hired the services of a local mercenary company with a single command: follow the man, and when he does not suspect, take the child far away from him where it will be safe.

Then, satisfied that he had gone beyond his expected duties, he spent his last two coppers sending a bird to his superiors explaining everything.

"And here we are." The man said, spreading his hands to encompass the garden. "Expecting one rescued foundling, and instead greeting two."

"I'm not a foundling." Daine, who had listened in stunned silence throughout the whole story, finally snapped. "I'm going home. You didn't rescue anyone, and you have no right to take our baby."

The priest shook his head sorrowfully. "You may leave whenever you wish, child, but the infant must remain with us. We must see if she has been tainted."

"Tainted!" For a moment Daine had to stop herself from slapping the man. If he hadn't been so old, so feeble, she would have. Still, he looked at her as if she were being foolish, and his gentle voice set her teeth on edge.

"We know how the goddess works. She destroys innocent lives, like your daughter's. She tears people to shreds. If we let you take the child away we might as well burn her alive in her swaddling bands. But if she stays... look, if her father is possessed by the goddess, then..."

"My husband," Daine said icily, "Is not possessed. Ask the gods about that. They were right there when we killed the demon, closer to me than you are right now. It would have taken your smug priest two seconds to ask Numair if he was still the Hawk. I drove that monster out of his mind like a rat leaving a sinking ship. And as for my daughter...!"

"Was your husband possessed when you conceived?" The priest interrupted without a shred of embarrassment. Daine gaped at him.

"No! Don't you think I would have noticed?" She gasped, appalled. The man shook his head.

"A fragment of a second... one of you closed your eyes, or perhaps you weren't face to face..."

This time she did slap him, the sound dull and flat in the open air. The priest suffered it without reproof, and then he mildly told her: "You are allowed to be angry, and our Tortallan brother will be punished for acting in such haste that we did not know all the facts. This is a promise. I also swear that if you strike me again, I will bind you to the ground like a thorn bush until the next rains come."

"My baby is not possessed." Daine repeated through gritted teeth, heedless of the warning. The priest ducked his head.

"I also hope that is true." He rooted in his pocket and handed her something which gleamed green. Daine took it curiously, feeling the smooth, cold edges of a sea-stone under its glowing outline.

The man steepled his hands and said, "This is a focus stone. While it is green you will know your child is safe. If it turns yellow she is sick, and blue means that she is in danger. If it stops glowing it means that she is too far away from you for the spell to see her. I've bewitched it to a distance of three miles - which is about the length of the island. You have my word that while she is here it will stay green and will not stop glowing. The child will always be here, and you may ask to see her whenever you wish."

Daine turned the stone over in her hand. The man could be lying, but somehow she didn't think so. His agitation and guilt had been genuine before, and this seemed like a sincere attempt to calm her down. She knew it was also a trap, though: she would not be able to leave the city. When she swallowed and looked up, ready to ask the man more questions, he had gone.

Before she could follow him another man appeared, again in priestly robes and even more wizened than the first. He tugged at her sleeve and cackled mischievously. "Did that idiot really ask you which way you make love?"

Daine coloured and nodded, prompting another round of choking laughter. The man winked at her, and she relaxed at the open friendliness in his face. Even his lewd jokes held a simple sweetness. He said, "Not that I wouldn't have hoped for an honest answer, lovely... but you tell that filthy little beggar to mind his own business."

"He said something about seeing a demon." Daine explained, although she still did not understand it herself. The man shook his head mockingly.

"Unless your husband growled, snarled and grew claws when he was at his peak, lady mine, I think you're safe enough. Of course, if that's normal for him then I have many more questions... some of which are even relevent to the god."

Daine grudgingly laughed, finally seeing the ludicrous side of what had been a very tense interview. "Of course he doesn't do that. He's fair quiet. But you're right that it's private, so I won't tell you any more than that."

"I'll let my imagination run riot, then." The old man said contentedly, and leaned back against a harbour bench with closed eyes. Daine noticed that the ancient lines around his eyes looked dark, as if the rich dark colour from his skin had drained into the corners like ink. His voice was diffident, mixing friendliness with a strange species of respect. "I'm supposed to look out for you, lovely. Name's Yu."

"You?" She parroted stupidly. She suddenly felt too tired to make sense of the world, now that her path had reached a dead end. The man crinkled his eyes at her.

"Yu. Or Yew, if it's easier for you to say - like the tree." He watched her rub her eyes, and added sympathetically, "I will arrange a meal for you, and some clothes, but first I think you'd like to know where the bathing house is."

"I want to see my daughter." Daine told him, finding her eyes drawn to the green stone worriedly. Yew shook his head.

"You cannot tonight. They will all be watching her, seeing how she moves and sounds and breathes and sleeps. They cannot have another person interfering."

The girl rounded on him, hands on hips in her anger. "Your master said I could see her whenever I want!"

"Master Shònagon said you could ask to see her." The man sighed thinly and stretched out arthritic hands. "It is not the same thing."

She shook her head, wondering and furious. "That's ridiculous. It's just words!"

"Words mean a lot to us. Chaos uses them to confuse her prey, and so we always mean exactly what we say." Yew caught her elbow and frowned at the tense stubborness in her thin frame."Come on, lovely."

Daine resisted for a moment, and then her tired feet surrendered and she followed the man. He led her through an endless stream of whitewashed buildings to a bathhouse, where the floor and walls were covered in green and pink tiles. Seeing her numb comfusion, he gave her a gentle push through the doorway and told her that he would be waiting in the front garden when she was finished. A maid appeared at her elbow and bowed her into the green corridor. There were several small rooms leading off from it, each with a thin slit of a door so that it was hard to see inside and a robe hanging on the wall.

Daine winced as she stripped off her clothes, seeing how they were thick and heavy with dried salt and dirt. She didn't even like to drop them onto the green tiles, and in the end she hung them gingerly on the peg. The white robe was probably already being stained from her skin. She ducked out of the cubicle and felt too ashamed to meet the servant's face. The woman's bare feet padded away along the corridor, and Daine followed her to a bathing room so full of steam that her hair felt wet in seconds.

She washed slowly, because apart from the friendly man she hated everything about this place. She had no desire to explore the complex, or meet more of the priests, or learn the language. If she could sink into the steam and sleep she would be content, except for the fact that she was desperately worried about her baby. It hit her like a sharp pain whenever she thought she had grown used to their seperation. She turned the stone over and over in her fingers.

When she returned to the cubicle there was a long Yamani robe hanging on the peg.

"Where are my clothes?" She demanded, returning to the maid. The woman shrugged at the words, but after a few moments' miming worked out the question. She smiled, mimed a crawling insect, pulled a horrified face and pantomimed throwing the clothes into a fire. Daine nodded wearily and obediently pulled on the strange new clothes.  
 _  
Now,_ she thought, _everything I have belongs to them._


	12. For Pause

That night her sleep was not gently swayed by the sea, and in the odd green glow of the stone her dreams were poisoned into nightmares.

It started as a dream - a sweet memory. The morning after the boy's final request Daine had barely made it to the kitchens before the work bell rang. Her head was spinning so much she almost got lost. He wanted her to choose for herself - and he had given her the freedom to say no. It was dizzying, and it was frightening.

The cook scowled at her but Daine threw herself into her work with such energy that the woman couldn't find anything to criticise. Struggling with both the knowledge that she cared about the boy, and panic about the first choice she'd been given in years, Daine peeled potatoes and scrubbed floors until her knuckles bled.

"On your knees?" Someone drawled, and a boot rested heavily against the small of her back. She recognised the uncle's nasal sneer. "Stay down, creature. You animals look ridiculous on two legs."

She sighed and pushed her scrubbing brush to one side, knocking the pantry door closed as a hint for him to just get on with it before someone saw. For once he noticed her disdain, and the heel of his boot dug into her spine.

"I know you two have been lying to me." He hissed. Daine looked around at that and had just enough time to see that he was puce with anger before he cursed at her and pressed her back to the ground.

"The boy is soft. He could have made me a fortune here with his brains, but he's too damn soft. I figured a few nights here would sort that out, especially with a little whore like you. Then he told me this morning all about his little playmate, how you're his friend, how it's just like being with his sisters..." The man spat into her hair. "I didn't order you to be his damned friend. If I'd known he was soft over a disgusting little murderess I'd've beaten some sense into both of you weeks ago."

Daine covered her face with her hands because she didn't trust her eyes not to betray her. The man saw, and dragged her upright by the wrist.

"I'll give you one last chance. He'll be gone tomorrow, but I won't. I'll still be making your life a living hell when you're fifty. If you don't enlighten him by the time he leaves, I promise I'll dedicate every second of my life to doing exactly that. Got it?"

She hesitated, which was a mistake, and he bellowed out an oath before throwing her against the shelves. Preserves and glass crashed to the ground and she fell heavily, cutting a long laceration into her arm. Panting in pain, she drew the shard out of her skin and held it up in her other hand, barely thinking of it as a weapon, just desperate for the few precious seconds it bought her.

He met her eyes with a sneer. Ready and bared in his hand, he held a knife. Her hand trembled but his never moved.

"Go on," He taunted her, his voice thick with laughter. "Try it."

The room smelled of copper and sugar and fear, and she dropped the shard from numb fingers. She heard his laughter and felt tears seeping from her eyes.

Then... her eyes were dry and her throat rasped with the dry heat of abject disgust. Her dreams had dragged her two years forwards.

A living hell would have seemed like a blessed respite. She would have been safe in the uncle's brutish hands, away from the monster who caged her in granite arms and touched her with exquisite, tender cruelty.

Orsille's skin had smelled of soap, and his hair was sweet and soft with oil. Next to her filthy skin it seemed indecent, as if she were the one debasing him, and not the other way around. She cringed away from his cleanness and her fear made her want to retch, as if the smell of lavender were really the reek of shit.

Her nightmares always ended like this. She was too frightened of Orsille to dare to try to wake up. He touched her hands, her legs, her swollen belly, and his fragrant words were foul in her ear.

"The brat of a werewolf and the Hawk Mage? Why on earth would I let you keep something so valuable?"

... the room smelled of copper, and even when Daine wrenched her stinging eyes open the scent did not fade. Gasping away the lingering fear of a dream she barely remembered, she pushed down the bedclothes and saw that her monthly bleeding had stained her legs and the sheets. It had been late, probably from the bad food in the voyage, but the hot water in the baths had brought it on. Daine cleaned herself and the sheets as best she could with the cold water from her nightstand, but her practical movements seemed sluggish and she found that she couldn't stop shaking. Clutching the cold rag in one hand, she sank to the floor and rested her forehead against the edge of the mattress.

She hadn't wanted to be pregnant. Even as the late days trickled by she had barely thought about it. But now that she knew for a fact that she wasn't, the knowledge felt colder than the water in the dripping rag. She was a little more alone, a little further from home. Only a little, and gods knew what the priests would have decided to do with a woman impregnated by someone they thought of as a demon.

The relief she felt made her feel utterly disgusted.

When she raised her head she had to avoid looking around, knowing that the bronze looking glass that hung on one wall would make her recoil. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, she steeled herself and looked around the room. She had been too weary to explore last night. The hot bath and the soft, clean clothes had made her eyes droop in the strangely square dining room, and by the time she was led to a bed she had been too tired to even ask if she was in the same building as Sarralyn. There was only the softness of the sheets, and the dark thick silence of a down pillow.

Now she was wide awake. The sun had not yet risen, but a few insects and birds were beginning to call to each other in the odd navy darkness that lingered before dawn. There must have been a lamp or a rushlight in the corridor, because enough soft light glowed around the doorway for her to see the outlines of the room. She lit a candle. It was in a strange lantern which wrapped foggy, warped glass completely around the flame. When Daine raised the lantern and looked around she understood why. The floor was covered in rush mats; the walls were made of wood and the panels between the boards were made of thick paper. The furniture was low and the window shutters closed off almost an entire wall. If she knocked over a candle the room would burn like dry kindling on a hot day.

Curiously, she headed for the door beside the window shutters and, after a moment's confusion, realised that it was supposed to slide and not open inwards. It led to a small room holding a privy bucket, a chest to hold muddied outside clothing and a tiny bedroll. Daine guessed it was for a maid, if the visitor using this room had need of one. She was glad to see that it was empty.

Returning to the main room, she occupied herself for a few minutes opening and closing drawers, finding clothes and grooming brushes and even a box of charcoal and lip stains. She closed that drawer with a barely-concealed scoff and kept searching until, with a cry of victory, she found a roll of paper, pen and ink. Taking them back to the bed, she sat down in a tailor's seat and mended the pen with clumsy fingers. __

_Dear Numair,_

_I can write now! I have no idea what the men here would say about it, but they have given me a room of my own and there are birds outside. What they don't know won't harm them._

_Did you understand my last letter? I can tell you more now, although I am sorry to say I still do not know enough to be helpful. We travelled across the country to a dock in the town of Karajan. I do not think it is a proper port, because there were so few boats, so perhaps you can ask the people there where ours was headed? I counted the days we sailed for – twenty four – and I think we travelled mostly North from what I saw of the sun. We reached a small island whose name I do not know, but the men I spoke to said it is part of the Yamani islands. It does look strange to me, and I cannot understand the language the people speak. I think there must be many islands here, so I do not know how you will find this one._

Daine stopped writing and read back over what she had written, mentally cursing for how slow and rambling her words were. When she reached the second paragraph she frowned and rubbed at the paper, where a large black mark marred the smooth surface. She thought that perhaps it was an insect, but it did not move when she touched it.

Had her pen leaked? She looked at it for telltale chips in the nib, but couldn't see anything. When she looked back at the paper, another mark had appeared. This one was slowly spreading across the words, blotting out several words. _North_ disappeared, as did _Yamani_ and _Language._

The letter was almost illegible without those words, as if she had deliberately scratched out all the important information. Cursing under her breath, she threw the pen petulantly to the floor and took out one of the charcoal sticks from the cosmetic box. Gritting her teeth, she started again.

This time she had barely even written the first sentence before a black blot appeared. Daine watched in stunned disbelief as it grew and erased half of her words in a few easy seconds.

It couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Taking up another scrap of paper, she carefully wrote: _Numair, I love you._

She watched it for several minutes, but nothing happened. Taking out her last clean sheet, she scrawled: _Numair, we are in the Yamani islands._

The black spot appeared in seconds. It grew from the exact middle of the word _Yamani_ and oozed into the paper until there was nothing left.

Yew fetched her for breakfast a few hours later. When she heard his polite knock at the door she nearly yanked it open, still furious. Without any real outlet for her energy she had cleaned her room, making the bed up so severely the sheet corners could have been starched. When she followed the old man into the corridor a maid bowed and ducked into the room, barely concealing a soft whistle as she took in the shining wooden beams.

Daine walked beside the priest, fidgeting so nervously that she knocked a corner table over and had to stop and pick it up. When she caught up with Yew he looked sidelong at her and thudded his cane steadily into the middle of a mat.

"I tried to write a letter." She snapped, as if he had asked the question out loud. He shrugged, as if she was being irrational.

"Don't take it personally. The spell covers the whole island. It's been here for centuries and it'll be here for a lot longer. It keeps us safe."

"It keeps you safe." Daine folded her arms, livid colour on her cheeks. "I can't even talk to my husband!"

"Of course you can!" Yew looked appalled. "You just can't tell him where we are. That's how it works, you see. The only people who know this island exists are the people who were born here."

"Or brought here," Daine reminded him, adding heatedly: "Against their will."

"You're an exception, and you have a choice." The man looked serenely at the trees they were walking beside, enjoying the light of the soft morning sun through the immaculately shaped branches. "You can leave whenever you like. No-one will stop you getting back onto the boat before it sails."

She looked at him with mute accusation in her eyes, and for once Yew looked a little ashamed of himself. Instead of apologising for his callous suggestion, he cleared his throat and asked, "Are you hungry? You look like you're hungry."

Daine drew a deep breath, but she knew it was useless. The old man either didn't know anything else, or he was very good at hiding it. If there was a way around the spell she wouldn't coax it out of him.

After breakfast she was told that she could see Sarralyn at noon, when the first twenty-four hours of observation had ended. They said it in a flat, unapologetic way, as if they were arranging an appointment with their tailor, and then they hurried away with distracted haste. It was as if they barely knew Daine existed, while they were utterly captivated with every sound her child made. When Daine tried to follow them she was shooed away .

At first she was treated politely, by a nervous looking adept in a green robe, but after the girl sneaked past him and was caught trying to climb over a low brick wall to see into a large hall with a low blue-grey roof, she was removed more forcefully by a large woman in the same dark clothes Jeena had worn. The warrior dragged her back to the dining hall, and got a servant to translate the warning that if Daine was caught prying a second time, she would not be allowed to see her daughter for a week.

Daine balked at that, and decided to use the time to explore the rest of the island, to get a better idea of where she was. Any small clue which she could smuggle out to Numair would help. Her boots had been cleaned while she slept, and they looked very strange when she pulled them on under the dainty Yamani robe they had given her. A graceful sea of yellow flowers was cut off by two leather feet, where the other women wore delicately tooled slippers or high-heeled wooden sandals. Even the men swayed gracefully in their long robes, and Daine felt rather heavy and ungainly beside them. It suited her mood; she plodded away from the temple complex with a scowl fixed on her face.

After she left the low-walled complex the road grew more difficult, covered in blueish shards and bordered by strange rock walls which looked as if they had sprouted from the ground. The greenery was lush where there was soil, and the ground crumbled when she climbed the rises. When she shaded her eyes and looked towards the middle of the island she thought she could see storm clouds, but the air was clear and dry. There had been no volcanoes in Galla, and she had not learned about them in her stories, but some instinct told her that climbing up that smoking peak would be useless. She bit her lip and looked back down the trail, continuing her ascent until she could see the complex nestled in the lee of the volcano. It gleamed in the sun, with its white buildings and wide blue harbour, and the soft hills around its western edge were golden with ripe wheat and drying straw. It looked so... innocuous. Pretty, even.

Daine's heart still raced from the hard climb after so many days at sea, and she forced herself to rest a little before meditating. When she opened her eyes to the gleam of her gift they were wider, darker, and she could see much further.

She looked for two things.

First, she studied the complex, looking intently into every open window for a hint of where they might be hiding Sarralyn. There was no way they were keeping her chained to an adept now that she was in their sanctuary. If Daine could find her, she could steal her away. There was a crowd of nervously hasty men in the eastern part of the complex, but she could not tell which of the whitewashed buildings they were gathering around.

The second thing she looked at was the sea. She studied it until her head ached from the sun, looking for sandbanks or small islands in the gleaming green-blue waters. If there was a tiny scrap of land, she could try to reach it and write a letter from there. She did not know how far the spell reached, but Yew had only spoken about the island they were on.

"You won't find anything," A voice said, and she flinched and looked around. She was still too blinded by the sun to see in the shadow of the stone walls, and so she raised her hands to defend herself against the voice. It spoke again, sounding amused. "The nearest island is a week's voyage away. That's three days... as the hawk flies."

"Hawk?" She croaked, and blinked a few times. This time the voice actually laughed.

"A gull would work better, but I still think it would be too far."

Daine rubbed her eyes and peered into the darkness, slowly finding shapes. She did not think the priests knew she could shapeshift, or else they would be examining her as well as Sarralyn and she would never get them away from this place. She still could not see a speaker, but there was a shape huddled in the shade and she stepped towards it cautiously. "Who are you?"

"They gave me special permission. Me! As if I begged them to cross the realms like some silly stormwing. They called me in to their almighty presence and I swear if I'd been on two legs they'd've expected me to bow to them, thanking them for giving them the time of day." The shape huffed, and Daine knelt down beside it thinking it was a dog or a fox – something with four legs. She didn't have a clue what it was talking about.

"Um. Did you shapeshift, sir?" She asked, a little abashed. The shape growled another laugh.

"Just my mouth, a little. I'd talk into your mind, but you've spent so much of your life closing off your ears to wild voices that I didn't want to waste the effort."

"Then you're... actually a badger?" Daine reached out to touch him, and then snatched her hand back when his hair raised on his neck. "Sorry, sir. Are you a mage?"

"I'm a god. Badger God. And no, you're not imagining me." He scoffed, his face wrinkled halfway between scorn and amusement. His dark eyes were too bright and piercing for a normal badger, and he was a little too large. Daine sat back on her heels, sighing out a large breath.

"I didn't think I was! I was just thinking... did my ma send you?"

"Not really." The animal looked at her narrowly. "She doesn't have that power, not to send me across the realms and definitely not to get me to carry out her errands. Humph!" He clawed at the ground, raising some soft dust which the mountain breeze carried away. "They sent me to ask why you're breaking your promise. If they don't like your answer the next messenger won't be so polite."

"You're not polite."

"Compared to the Fox God I'm a ray of sunshine." The animal growled, and snapped up an unfortunate earthworm. Daine shuffled back a little, not wanting to offend it but needing to get away from its bad breath. She thought carefully before she said:

"I promised to stay with Numair in case the hawk came back, and I really am trying to get back to him. The priests stole our baby and I followed them here to get her back."

The animal scratched his flank, not meeting her eyes but looking down at the complex. "Why would they do that?"

"They think she's possessed by chaos." Daine explained, adding bitterly, "The same as Numair was."

"Huh." The badger peered a little more closely at the buildings, and an odd note of respect crept into his voice. "Is she?"

Daine wanted to say no, but the thought of lying to a god made her throat close up. "I don't know. We were trying to find out about the Hawk when they took her. We still hardly know anything. For all I know that demon could have been in his head when we... when she..."

The badger cleared his throat to stop her words and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he sat back on his haunches and looked up at the sky. His ears twitched as if he were listening to something, and his lip rose over his yellow teeth a few times. Having pulled his faces, he raised himself wearily back to four paws and looked Daine full in the face.

"You may have to stay here. I'll be back." He said curtly, and then he vanished in a clap of sound.


	13. Focus

Daine waited at the trail for as long as she dared, and then decided that the 'here' the badger had talked about must be the island, and not this particular spot. Scowling at her own literal mind, she raced down the trail and arrived just in time in the complex. The priests looked askance at her dusty shoes and sweaty face, but waved her into a cool room where she could see Sarralyn. The child was laid out on a large, flat pad in the middle of the floor. She was fast asleep, and although Daine wanted to cuddle her child she knew better than to wake her up. Just seeing her chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber was enough to calm her racing heart, and when the child's black eyes finally opened she gave such a delighted cry of recognition that her mother burst into tears.

The priests, tactful for once, left them alone. After a few hours they returned, and impatiently suffered a few minutes waiting for her to finish her tearful kisses, before sending Daine back to the guest quarters.

That night, Daine fell asleep clutching a pillow in her arms, feeling very cold without anyone else in the room. When she fetched another blanket she was too hot, but she preferred that. She sank into a tousled, feverish dream.

She was dressed in a leaf-green gown, and she could feel the outlines of the embroidered knots on her belt when she ran her fingertips down her body. She moved her hands up and down, feeling as if something were wrong. There should be... and the dream shifted, and she looked up, and saw midnight-black eyes looking back at her.

"It's just for a few days," Numair said, smiling diffidently. He didn't shrug, but his eyes went as distant as that indifferent gesture, "Well, or a few weeks at the most. Not more than a few months. You know I wouldn't leave you here forever."

She opened her mouth, desperate to say "Don't...", but her throat closed up and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't plead with him. She clutched at his arm, but her fingers stopped short of closing around the black, tattered sleeve which swayed from his wrists like feathers. He looked patiently back, taking half a step away from her flailing hands, and she felt tears budding in her eyes. She ran her hand down her body again, desperate to tell her lover that he couldn't leave her. Not now. Not when she was carrying his child. But her body was wrong – it was too thin, too barren, and no matter how she tried she knew he didn't understand her. Instead, he stroked her cheek and she wanted, suddenly, to slap his hand away.

"I know what you're thinking, little one." He murmured, oblivious to her glare. "I'll tell them. I'll be your voice."

 _You don't know anything!_ She screamed inside, but when she reached up to shove him away he was gone, soft and fleeting like smoke in the haze of her dream. She looked around, and the world was out of focus. She looked down, and she was standing on a ridiculously expensive rug in a filthy, frozen room.

This had really happened. She knew it, just as she almost knew that she was dreaming. She hadn't seen Numair's expression when he had bartered with her freedom in the war. She was sure that he hadn't been so calm, so emotionless. He would have fought for her. Still, because she hadn't seen it, her mind littered her nightmares with the man's betrayal. When she woke up screaming, half the time it was because of him.

The other half...

The shadows moved, and she saw the shock of Orsille's white-blonde hair, the glint of his smile. Because she wanted to hide her pregnancy from him, in her nightmare she was always gravid, clumsy and heavy with young.

"My dear little wolf cub," He sounded so tender it hurt her heart. Daine turned away from him, but he appeared in every corner that she looked towards. A twisted world, spinning around things that could have happened. Numair had not surrendered, and Karenna had never changed sides. The Tortallan assault had failed, leaving them besieging the valley, and she was still trapped in the Northern Tower with a man whose gloating grew more viscous and sickly by the day.

What would he do today? Parade her in front of the Tortallan army as he shouted demands from the battlements? He had barely fed her for weeks, and now she would have kissed his feet for a few morsels of bread. Rations were hard to come by, he said as he ate fresh meat before her. If she had shot down this bird, or caught fish in the moat, or gathered mushrooms from the pit, then perhaps she would deserve to eat. But she was too idle!

Daine suffered his taunting in the same silence that had struck her with Numair. Orsille grew bored quickly enough.

He stepped towards her, all of the shadows closing in around her, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. She obediently knelt when he pushed her down, although he shoved her harder and made her forehead hit the floor just to be spiteful. It made him feel like a king, he said, although one day princes would kneel before him, and not just slaves. Daine kept her head low to the ground and felt her head beginning to throb.

When he pulled at her hair to make her look up she whitened, and for a moment his blue eyes met her own and widened. Then she pulled away, fighting back for the first time in weeks, and shrank back to the ground with a low, guttural moan. It was not her head but her stomach, which bit and shoved at her like a creature, not an infant. Orsille took a step back at the unsettling note in her cry and even went so far as to kneel beside her, so he could see her face.

He started laughing. Daine spat in his face and curled up on her side, feeling the contraction beginning to pass. It was wrong, though – not the heavy ache that Sarralyn had made in real life, but a sharp, vicious pain.

"Help me," She moaned, and writhed against it as it began again. She looked up, and Orsille was surrounded by other men – men with dark skin in long, silk robes. "Oh gods, help me!"

"It's the demon," One of the priests said, and Orsille's face split in a long grin.

"Finally."

"It's not a demon. It's... it's my...baby..." Daine raised herself onto shaking elbows, pleading with the priests who looked back with distant disdain.

"It's possessed by Chaos." They told her, as if they were explaining something to an idiot. "It's your own fault. Stop screaming."

"But... it..." She cried out and curled up again, shuddering, and felt her skirt go hot and then clammy as her waters broke. The fluid smelled like scorched metal, sharp, sweet and acrid, and she felt as if she were being torn apart by tiny, brutal claws. "Please! Please, something's wrong! Please help it!"

Orsille was deep in conversation with one of the older priests, who finally shrugged and nodded. As they backed away a little Daine saw the official's face drawing closer and dug her fingernails into the carpet. "They say I can keep it." He whispered, and smiled sweetly when she sobbed.

"It's mine!"

"The brat of a werewolf and the hawk mage? Why on earth would I let you keep something so valuable?" He asked, exactly as he had done in real life. Daine screamed and threw her head back, neck cording as the baby tore at her again. It didn't feel human. It didn't feel...

"I won't wait forever. Cut it out of her if you have to." The official said indifferently to one of the priests. The man nodded vaguely and stepped forward, and his eyes were black as midnight smoke.

Daine shrieked and shoved him away, feeling her hands sinking into his chest like water. He blinked and vanished, and she struggled away from him. All of the men looked at her, their faces blank, and she knew she had nowhere to run too. Still, she found herself fleeing, her belly empty, her feet heavy, searching desperately for her child.

She felt her arms being held, and struggled against them, scratching and screaming until her nails were torn and her voice cracked. The world made no sense, it was all darkness and movement and sound, until suddenly the hands which clutched at her forced her to be still, and she was doused with sudden, inexplicable coldness. Gasping in cold and terror, she collapsed to the floor and then – then! – her eyes opened.

She had been asleep. In a rush of horrified panic, she looked around at the shadowed faces of the priests and gulped back nausea at being woken up so quickly. Her shift was drenched with water, where they had dumped a pail of it over her head. As soon as they saw that she was conscious the men relaxed their hands, although they didn't quite let go.

"Where am I?" Daine croaked, looking back at the wet tiled floor. The stone work looked familiar, and she squinted around the dark room. It was the ornate wing of the temple where Sarralyn had been kept that afternoon. Now it was dark and empty, but in her waking nightmare she had found it and dreamed that her child was still here. She pulled her arms back from the priests, managing to free one hand, and saw that his hand was bloodied with scratches. She rubbed at her aching head. "I'm so sorry. I... I get nightmares. They're not usually that bad but because Numair isn't..." She shut her mouth with an audible sound, and repeated weakly, "I am sorry."

The priest didn't answer, but his mouth set in a thin line. Someone behind him said something quick in the fluid Yamani tongue, and then a familiar face appeared. Daine looked up into the eyes of Yew, who looked back with bovine simplicity.

"That was a dream?" He asked in soft tones. The girl nodded, and gulped in a breath.

"A nightmare." She shivered and rubbed at her eyes, feeling her heart racing beneath her skin. Even by her standards the nightmare had been horrifying. She wondered what had made it so awful, now that she had had a warm bed to sleep in for the first time in a few dreamless weeks.

Yew looked sympathetic and nodded at the men who still held her arms. They let go immediately, as if he had shouted some command. Daine resisted the urge to rub her wrists, and instead raised herself to her feet and stood, feeling rather abashed. She was suddenly conscious of being in her thin nightshirt in the warm night air, and felt bad for having woken all these men up with her screams. Seeing the guilt on her face, Yew patted her shoulder.

"Who is Numair? Your husband?" He asked, waiting for her nod. His wrinkled face creased in something that might have been a smile. "Probably a good idea for us to send for him, then, isn't it?"

"You'd do that?" Daine asked, looking hopeful. The man smiled again and nodded, and the girl breathed out in a rush. "But... he won't know who you are. And if he thinks you're a threat..."

"Is there any way we might convince him?" Yew sounded slightly too polite, as if he had practiced his words, but in her sudden exhausted happiness the girl didn't notice. She nodded immediately and reached around her neck, drawing out the thin chain which had been spelled to disappear unless she consciously summoned it. Unclasping it, she handed it to the old man, who frowned at the silver and green pendant. "What is it?"

"A focus." Daine picked up the amulet and then let go, watching it swinging from the end of the chain. "After... well, it's so we didn't lose each other again. It was the first thing Numair made with his magic after we chased the demon away."

And she adored it. She loved the clumsy workmanship, the way his un-practiced hands hand made one half of the locket silver and the other half an accidental green, the eccentric whorls on the surface which were supposed to be decorative, but instead made the clasp stick whenever she tried to open it. It was difficult to part with it, but Numair would know that a simple robber would not have found it. She would have had to willingly unclasp it from her throat.

"Tell him... say that the last thing we did was argue about James." She said, and shrugged. "Seems fair horrible to remind him that we parted like that, but at least he'll know you spoke to me."

"Thank you," Yew murmured, and patted her shoulder again. This time the gesture seemed a little more awkward, and he gave the pendant and the words to a man who had materialised at his side. The younger man nodded, glanced at Daine with an odd expression, and then darted away.

For a moment Daine saw the same strange look on the faces of several of the priests, and looked down at her bare feet in embarrassment. She must have made such a scene, for the men to look at her so strangely. And then Yew led her out of the circle, and started walking her back to the guest quarters.

Behind her, she heard the group of men burst into a flurry of incomprehensible, excited words.

"What are they saying?" She asked, rubbing her eyes. Yew shrugged, and didn't bother to glance back at the other priests, but his feet dragged in the dust for a moment. Daine frowned, looking sideways at him to see if he was about to trip, and caught sight of the group out of the corner of her eye. For a moment she thought she saw the gleam of green light, as if they were using their magic, but then it disappeared.

They were silent now. Silent, and still, and every single one of them was staring at her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reminding me to finish this one!

The letter which Daine wrote to her husband was blotched and crumpled, but the priests had taken it from her with a comforting smile before she could copy it out. The birds had taken short messages back to Tortall, but she had never been able to fit more than a few words on the scraps of paper, and the letters he had sent her in return were just as frustrating. How are and I am took up half of it, and then they always shared a few words about Sarralyn. If there was room then a sliver of affection might start clumsily crawling across the margin, but it felt forced and false.  
Daine filled a whole sheet of paper before she realised that half of the words had blacked themselves out. Instead of starting again she kept writing. The bleeding ink stopped when she changed the topic, and she wondered if Numair would be able to see past the magic to the words beneath. It didn’t seem as important to tell him anything, now that he was coming to the island.  
It didn’t occur to Daine that the man might not want to follow the priests. In her simple way she believed that, since she trusted the men, Numair would too. She didn’t ask herself how her husband would possibly understand the conspiracy without needing to know all of its twists and turns.  
She wrote as much as she could in the letter. The amount of useful information that made it past the censor spell was impressively pointless – that there were men who she couldn’t name, who did something she didn’t really understand, who had kidnapped her but they didn’t mean to, and by the way, get onto a ship with them for a few weeks and they’ll bring you to a place I can’t mention. Oh, and by the way, they think you’re a demon...  
Daine chewed on her lip when she wrote, and forgot to use commas, and finally handed over a note that would have made one of her story books look factual by comparison. The priests didn’t even pretend they weren’t going to read it; they took the sheets of paper and slid them into a soft leather pouch, smiling at the girl who looked anxiously back at them.  
Yu escorted her to the bathing house soon after they left. It was only when he tactfully suggested it that the girl realised that she was still in her nightclothes. The nightmare had soaked her in a feverish sweat, and the hours she had spent writing had made it dry to salt on her skin. As she stripped off her clothes something made her pause; she held the shirt to her nose and inhaled cautiously. It smelled spicy, like aniseed, and when she breathed the scent in her eyes reeled giddily.  
Had she been witched? She had been spelled asleep when Sarralyn was stolen away. Lady Min had said she was honourable, but it hadn’t stopped her from using cheap potions. It occurred to Daine that the Yamanis might have a different idea of honour than the Tortallans or the Gallans. While they saw potions as a cheap, clumsy weapon, the skilled assassins of the silken islands might have valued its secret ways.  
Numair had told her that the Carthakis used potions to drug each other – even making up concoctions which had no magic in them. The idea had sent a sick thrill through Daine’s stomach. She knew about those kinds of potions. Some of the slaves had been driven mad from drinking alcohol or smoking withie roots. When they had sobered up in the fort their madness had turned into a grim desire to find more. They had been unconscious when they had been locked up; perhaps they thought that if they got drunk enough, they would wake up back at home.  
The officials had quickly worked out that the glassy-eyed slaves were drinking cleaning fluids, or rubbing sealing tar into their gums, or smoking bird droppings from the gutters. At first they laughed and left the slaves to it, until one of the women poisoned half of the kitchen staff by mixing lye with sentet salt and willow bark. After that potion making was banned, which meant that everyone wanted to try it. The odd crowd of addicts turned into a horde, and some officials were caught smuggling real liquor and herbs into the store rooms before the soldiers waded in and dragged half the smugglers down into the pit. It had been an insane, hazy fortnight filled with thick smoke and singing voices.  
When Daine had slept, she had dreamed of flying.  
Daine lowered the fabric and then dropped it onto the tiles. A servant would take it away while she bathed. She decided that it didn’t matter. There was enough incense and perfume on the island to smother a small country. Her nightmares had made her suspicious, that was all. She planted her foot onto the fabric and shoved it into a puddle where the scent dulled.  
She scrubbed sand and soap into her hair and rinsed it out with the coldest water the servants would bring her, shuddering but relishing the surge of wakefulness. Her head was aching fiercely, but the thought of going back to sleep made her want to be sick.  
It’s just a few more weeks. She told herself, and refilled the rinsing ladle with shivering hands. He’ll be here by then, and the nightmares will stop.  
Would they, though? She thought back to the last night she had spent at home, and remembered the dream which had made her sob and plead against the darkness until she finally managed to wake up. Orsille hadn’t been in it, nor had Numair. It wasn’t a dream about being hurt or beaten, but when she had woken up she felt the pain of it far more keenly than any of her scars. Numair might have spelled her asleep, but she would have recoiled from his touch even before he called on his gift. It wasn’t a nightmare. It had been a memory.  
The more she thought about seeing her husband again, the worse she felt.  
While she was following Sarralyn across the countryside, she had been frightened. That morning, while she was looking into her husband’s eyes, she had been terrified. If she had gone home then she would have had to explain herself to him, and how could she?  
James had probably told him the truth by now. It was probably why Numair’s letters were so factual. Daine dripped icy water onto her legs with numb misery written on her face. If they didn’t tell him, then he would hear the truth of it in court, with hundreds of gossiping nobles watching his face turn white. Better that he hear it from one of them first, even though the thought of it made Daine’s stomach turn.  
She had been fifteen.  
After James’ uncle had threatened her, Daine had cleaned herself as best she could. She felt perverse making herself look attractive, when she had been ordered to do something so foul. She took her time, washing jam and shards from her hair in the kitchen sink and suffering the snide comments of the cook, who had been listening at pantry doors for almost as long as the official had been dragging Daine through them.  
The woman sewed up the gash on her arm, smeared it with honey and bandaged it up, then sent Daine to clear up the mess of glass and preserves. By the time the stone floor was no longer sticky everyone else had gone to bed.  
Daine dragged her feet up the stairs, thinking ruefully that she hadn't even had a chance to make her choice. Of course she would have gone to see the boy one last time, but it would have been nice to actually choose to do it, herself. Sighing, she turned at the top of the stairwell and made her way to the guest corridor.  
The boy's room was dark and empty, which made Daine’s thudding heart quieter. His chest was packed and tidy by the door, and his riding coat was laid out. The girl built up a fire, and then let herself look around a room where they had both been happy, in their quiet ways. It was best to remember that now, because she knew she was going to ruin it.  
She could honestly admit, even to herself, that she didn't love the awkward boy enough to accept years of abuse from his uncle. It wasn't even as if she was going to do something bad. Other men seemed to enjoy it well enough. But she had a horrible feeling that her friend would never be able to forgive her.  
She dipped out some water, helped herself to some lavender scented soap from his nightstand, and washed herself a second time. Stripping off her rags, she searched through his chest until she found a soft silk shirt. It reached nearly to her knees, and as she belted it shut Daine pretended it was a ballgown. A soft, delicate gown which she had embroidered and worn to the Samhein dance, and now she was waiting for her sweetheart...  
...What nonsense. She scowled, brushed back her drying curls, and waited.  
The night bells rang twice more before the boy opened the door, and she had to dart forward to catch him. The boy tripped giddily across the room, laughing and blushing by turns, and Daine smelled strong liquor on his breath. She could guess who had gotten the man drunk. She helped him to a chair and gave him a glass of water, reasoning that he would hate her even more in the morning if he got a hangover.  
He laughed his thanks, belched and said suddenly, "I'm James."  
Daine flinched and he noticed, but in his stupor he misunderstood: "I know, we were never introd'ced! Seems so... so..." he shook his head and then looked blearily at her. "I know you c'n't tell me y'r name."  
She shook her head. He looked unhappy, but then brightened. "B't you're here! You came to say goo-bye!"  
Gods, he didn't know how true that was. She shaped the words with her lips, parrot-like, wishing that she knew how to say them out loud. The boy giggled at the odd sight and then apologised. "They g't me drunk. I didn' wanna... I was going to give you a... a presen' and everythin'. But I can't remember where it...it..." He blinked at her, comically disoriented, and said, "You look diff'ren. Pretty. Like a girl but... but inna shirt. Issat... is 'at my shirt?"  
She nodded, drew a deep breath and caught his hand. The palm was greasy with sweat, and when she drew it slowly along the slippery silk shirt it left a dark mark. He watched his own hand with dull interest for a moment, but when she brought his hand to her breast he drew back and stared at her in shock.  
"I'm n't... You don' have to..." He slurred, looking appalled.  
Daine shook her head. She pointed to herself, and then to his hand, and then picked it up again and smiled. He bit his lip, drunkenly persuaded, although doubt still burned in his eyes.  
Daine knew then that she never would have convinced him if he were sober. The fascinated way that he touched her was so innocent and clumsy that she wanted to cry for doing this to him. But she didn't love him enough to stop, so she took his other hand and eased it into her shirt, and watched his eyes widen. When his breath quickened and his hands started to search more urgently she climbed onto the chair with him, freeing him from his breeches even as he started to protest. Her heart tore at the desperation in his voice. He groaned and clutched at her when he felt that she was naked under the shirt, but beneath the throaty begging of passion was a last desperate entreaty for her to stop. Daine buried her face against his shoulder so that she couldn't see the mixture of desire and betrayal on his face, but nothing could block out that plea. He sobbed as he started to move, staining the silk shirt with tears.  
_Is this what they feel when they do it to me?_ Daine thought, holding the boy tightly as he shuddered inside her. A score of men's faces leered at her inside her mind, and she stared at them in awakened horror. _How can they like doing this?_  
James gasped in a breath, and then another, and she stoked his back soothingly. His hands tightened around her back for a moment, needing the comfort, and then he made an odd noise and shoved her away.  
"D'you think I'm like all the others?" He demanded, and there was something sickly in his rapidly sobering voice. Daine shook her head tearfully, but she knew that even if she could speak she could never explain. Even she had not understood fully but now, now that innocence had completely fled, she remembered the smell of sugar. It was just his revenge. A punishment, for both of us, for spoiling his plans. He knew that I would do it without thinking.  
The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he stood up shakily. "I hate this place." He whispered, and looked down to where she was sprawled on the grass-green carpet. "I thought I could do one good thing at least, helping you. I thought we understood each other. But... but it turns out you're just as...as… They told me you were... they warned me, but I just couldn't believe..." He shuddered and pulled his clothes on, turning away from her as he tied his breeches. That last show of innocence made Daine's eyes fill with tears, and she covered her face with her hands.  
When she could see again he was looking at her, his unlined face a mixture of disgust and pity. "Stay here tonight, then. It'd be silly to drop the act on the one night when you actually did what my uncle wanted, wouldn't it?"  
She sobbed harder. His uneven footsteps paused, and a vulnerable note crept into his voice. Even between the tears and his drunkeness Daine remembered that he was clever, and his next words proved it. "I think... if you could talk, you might tell me a lot of things about my uncle that I wouldn't want to hear."  
She nodded and clutched at him, and he kicked his leg out to dislodge her. His voice turned icy. "But you still had a choice. I'll never forget that you chose him over me." 

***


End file.
